Matters of the Mind
by Elanor87
Summary: Five years after the end of the war, Peeta has been captured by sinister forces unknown. Can Katniss find him before it's too late? Mind Meddling, super villains, mystery, oh my! The Capitol no longer has a monopoly on evil in Panem.
1. Taken

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to the one and only Suzanne Collins.

* * *

"Katniss!"

_My head is throbbing. What is that racket! _

Katniss! Wake up! Come on!"

_I see a shadowy figure hanging over me. So that's where all the bloody noise is coming from! I feel as though someone is driving an awl into my forehead. _

"Katniss!"

_Shapes slide in and out of my vision. I feel a vague stinging sensation in my cheeks, but that is nothing compared to the searing pain in my temples. Everything looks blurry, almost like one of Peeta's watercolor paintings… _

"Katniss? That's right, wake up!"

My eyes snap open_. Peeta._

"Oh thank God!" says the voice and I see a woman's face swim into view. "Haymitch, get your drunk ass over here!" she shouts.

_Something is wrong. Peeta! Where's Peeta? _

Suddenly the reality of the situation dawns on me and I feel like I've just hit a forcefield head-on. How could I have let this happen _again? _After I've finally gotten him back, the real him—sweet and humble and disarmingly funny. I fling myself bolt upright, causing a flood of stars to dance around my eyes and a wave of nauseating dizziness.

"Jesus, sweetheart! Take it easy!" comes the voice of Haymitch from somewhere to my left. I feel someone gripping my shoulders firmly and I am dimly aware that I am bleeding profusely.

"Where's Peeta?" I gasp, blinking frantically. My hand flies back automatically, searching for an arrow. There is nothing there.

"How the hell should I know?" snaps Johanna. "What is it with you two anyway? Someone's always trying to kill you and I'm always caught up in the middle of it!" I can tell she's trying to ward off genuine concern because she is more surly than usual. My heart feels like it has dropped out of my body.

"Peeta!" I yell maniacally, not knowing what else to do, because Haymitch and Johanna still look like undulating blobs and I can't figure out how to make my feet stand up. "PEETA!"

I feel arms lifting me up from the ground, but I keep screaming his name. _He was right here! Right beside me! This is a nightmare, I'll wake up soon and Peeta will be sleeping next to me. _I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek.

The metallic taste of blood brings the events of the day flooding back to me, flashing before my eyes in rapid succession. I feel like I am spinning, spinning like the cornucopia at the Quarter Quell…_Stay awake! _I command myself.

Darkness.

* * *

_Three hours earlier..._

When I awake there is sunlight streaming in through the window. I yawn broadly and roll over to reach for Peeta, but I find his side of the bed cold and empty. Then I remember with a start what day it is. I make an uncoordinated, sleepy grab for the alarm clock and note the time with a sigh: 8:35 am.

By the time I have stumbled into the shower, pulled on my bathrobe, and made an attempt to comb out my unruly hair, it is nearly 9 and I can hear the sound of sizzling bacon in the kitchen. Peeta looks up when he sees me and grins.

"Morning."

"You didn't wake me," I reply moodily, snatching the spatula from him. "I'm supposed to be doing this. It's your big day!"

Smiling, he wraps his arms around my waist, while I attempt to maintain some semblance of a glare. "You just looked so peaceful, like an angel," he teases, knowing how low my tolerance is for romanticism.

"Yeah, that's right, an angel. The angel of _death _next time you try to use that line on me," I say, jabbing at the bacon testily, but unable to conceal the small smile turning up the corners of my mouth. Peeta sees it right away and takes the opportunity to plant a conciliatory kiss on my lips.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry," he concedes, and the sound of pure, undiluted joy in his voice completely mollifies me. After five years in the works, today is the grand opening of the new Mellark family bakery.

"I'm so proud of you, Peeta," I tell him, this time smiling for real.

Peeta beams back at me. "Sometimes I thought it would never happen, you know?"

"Mmhmm," I agree, knowing that he is not just referring to the bakery. I don't think either of us, least of all me, believed that we could have come so far since the Rebellion. The months of work spent constructing the bakery seem like a nice stroll in the park compared with the years we have spent fending off nightmares and flashbacks, sobbing over lost loved ones and, finally, sorting through our feelings for each other, feelings steeped in fear and betrayal and uncertainty.

The noise of the front door slamming open yanks me from my reverie and both Peeta and I spring instinctively into defensive positions. Several seconds later a disgruntled looking Johanna comes striding into view with two reporters scurrying in her wake.

"Peeta! Would you get your precious little iconic face out here and talk to these people before I—" She pauses in mid rant as she notices the absurd poses we have struck upon her unceremonious intrusion into our kitchen. At least I had the good sense to grab a knife because Peeta is brandishing the spatula at her and looking about as fierce as Prim's old goat.

The reporter snaps a couple photos while Johanna doubles over laughing. Scowling, Peeta tries to casually disarm himself of his kitchen implement.

"Peeta!" she wheezes, erupting into another round of uncontrollable laughter. "What were you going to do, deep fry me!" And she's off again, holding on to the countertop for support.

"Ahh, Peeta," she says, wiping her streaming eyes and trying to sober herself, "Thanks for making my day, kid."

"Don't mention it," says Peeta stiffly, although he doesn't really sound angry. I can't quite understand it, but he and Johanna have a special sort of relationship. I know he talked to her a lot while he was going through therapy, trying to unearth what was behind all of those shiny, deadly memories. I think Johanna's the only one who can really come close to understanding the horror of what Peeta went through in the Capitol, and surly and difficult as she may be, I know I should be eternally grateful to her for what she's done for him.

Meanwhile, Peeta quickly recovers his good-naturedness and, sensing that Johanna's defenses are down from laughter, he lunges at her and pulls her into a giant bear hug.

"Oof, get off me you big sap!" she protests, but I can see that she is secretly pleased. I smile at the pair of then and after Peeta releases her, Johanna sticks out her hand to me and shakes mine vigorously. "Good to see you, too, Mockingjay. Hey, would you look at that arm!" she cries, examining the long, jagged scar which has faded significantly in the past years. "Remember when I sliced you open? Good times."

"The best," I reply, rolling my eyes.

"Ahem," comes the sound of someone clearing their throat. Peeta and I exchange a glance—we have completely forgotten about the reporters.

Peeta puts on his best winning smile while I run upstairs to change and Johanna sulks in the corner, suddenly remembering her annoyance with the barnacles she picked up in town. I hate dealing with the media. I thought that nothing could be worse than having the capitol sticking their cameras down my throat at every waking moment, but it turns out that the regime change did not slake the populace's desire for voyeuristic and intrusive reporting. It had been especially bad at the beginning when Peeta was newly released from Dr. Aurelius' care and was still having regular and agonizing flashbacks. I barely escaped a lawsuit after I caught someone from the paparazzi climbing up Peeta's rain pipe and I shot the camera out of his hands with one of Beetees flaming arrows. Singed the guy's mustache off too, I remember with a smug smile. Served him right.

After I grudgingly let the press take a few photos of Peeta and me, I signal to Johanna and we head out for town. Despite my annoyance at the reporters I'm not going to let anything ruin this day for Peeta. I stop on the front steps for a moment and straighten his tie for him. I feel ridiculously domestic as soon as I do it and I know Johanna is rolling her eyes, but I don't care. I cup Peeta's face and gently brush my lips against his. He looks at me a little curiously, clearly a bit taken aback by this uncharacteristic display of public affection.

"What?" I demand, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Oh shut up, Johanna." Peeta squeezes my hand with a smile.

And that's when I hear it—a slight pop, and then the loud roar of a hovercraft hanging menacingly over our heads. At first I think that its Beetee come to congratulate Peeta on the bakery, he drops by pretty regularly, but there is something not quite right. The hovercraft doesn't look like one of the new fleet Beetee has designed for inter-district travel, no, there is something sinister about this one.

Suddenly the sound of open fire sends the reporters screaming and skittering for cover. Out of the corner of my eye I see Haymitch framed in his doorway, the alarm in his face evident even from a distance. Just as I reach out to grab Peeta's hand I see the missile headed for us as if in slow motion. I open my mouth wide in a silent scream and the last thing I see as I'm thrown backwards with incredible force are Peeta's startling blue eyes moving up, up and away. _He's been taken._


	2. The Lords of Light

When I finally come around I realize that I'm lying on my couch. The pungent smell of liquor and unwashed clothes tell me that Haymitch is nearby. I touch my head gingerly and find that the gash there has been bandaged.

"Where's Peeta?" I mutter.

"You've been asking the same thing over and over again for half and hour—_we don't know_," repeats Haymitch exasperated. "Next?"

"I want my bow."

"Well, that sounds about right. Number 1, where's Peeta, number 2, bring me a lethal weapon. At least we know there's been no permanent brain damage." He takes a swig from his flask. "But there's really no point, you know, unless you're going to use your bow to divine his whereabouts."

I groan and pull myself into a seated position, trying to clear my thoughts. It's a bit hard considering the throbbing pain in my skull.

"Come on now, Katniss. You've gotta take it easy— " begins Haymitch in what might be a concerned voice.

I cut him off abruptly, "Where's Johanna?"

"In the kitchen with Beetee wracking her brains as to what could have possibly precedented Peeta's abduction." My ears perk up at that. "Yeah, Beetee's here," he says, reading my thoughts. "Called him right afterwards and he came as fast as he could. Luckily he happened to be on business in 11."

I feel a little better knowing we've got one of the most brilliant minds in Panem on the case, but mostly I feel like I want to find whoever took Peeta and treat them to a long, painful death.

"I don't get it," I say bitterly. "Why Peeta? If this were some kind of revenge scheme wouldn't they go straight for me?"

"Same question we have sweetheart. A surprise attack like that and you unarmed—even the Girl on Fire couldn't have wormed herself out of that one. You weren't the target."

I hear the scraping of chairs in the other room and I see Beetee and Johanna emerge. Beetee looks a bit healthier than the last time I saw him, there's some color in his cheeks and his wire-rimmed glasses aren't slipping off his gaunt face anymore. Johanna is nursing an arm wound, most likely a stray piece of shrapnel. They both look tired.

"Hey there Katniss," says Beetee, trying to sound cheerful. "Long time no see."

All I can do is nod in his direction.

"We've been over the security footage again and again," Beetee tells Haymitch. "They must have tampered with the alert system—it's the only way they could have broken through the perimeter."

"Excuse me," I say, becoming concerned that I may be more concussed that I previously imagined. "The perimeter?"

Beetee squirms a little and avoids looking me directly in the eye.

"Er, yes, after the Rebellion we set up a small…um, security net."

"A security net?" My eyes narrow and I round on Haymitch, "Did _you _know about this?" I demand. Unlike Beetee, he doesn't look the least bit bothered by this line of questioning.

"Well of course I did. Honestly you're so thick sometimes. What? You think a war just ends and _poof_ that's that?" He kicks off his shoes and props his feet up on the couch. "There were loyalists to contend with, mercenaries looking to cash in on the post-war chaos, thugs, gangs, you name it! You and Peeta were sitting ducks, and with your knack for getting yourselves in trouble, hell, of _course _we set up some security measures."

I glare at Haymitch for a second. Then I grab his feet and push him so that he topples backwards off his chair and onto the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly while his string of obscenities pound into my aching head.

Johanna smirks. "Told you she'd take it well."

"We're really sorry, you know," says Beetee, his voice brimming with regret. I start to feel that I may have overreacted. "It's just we knew the two of you were going through a lot and we thought it best to not worry you."

"Yeah, well, you still should have told me," I say stubbornly. "I wouldn't have let my guard down."

"Point taken. No more secrets," promises Beetee.

"Where have I heard that before?" I scoff, still staring daggers at Haymitch. Somehow I'm sure he's behind the deception.

"Enough!" interrupts Johanna before I can say anything else. "We get it, you're mad. But we need to stop obsessing over_ how_ they got him and start figuring out _who _they are and _where _they're taking him."

"Right," agrees Beetee, unrolling what looks like a giant map. I gasp when it unfurls because it is not your average map. It's 3D for one and there are different colored dots hovering above it, blinking and moving in courses across an unfamiliar, mountainous terrain. "It's made with holograms," he tells me, seeing my surprise. "You know, like the ones we used during the Rebellion."

"What is it?"

"It's a map of the outer wastelands beyond District 13," grunts Haymitch, who seems to have recovered from his fall and looks a bit sobered. "Its virtually unexplored terrain. Folks believe there were once settlements there ages ago when this place was called North America, but because of the show down between the Capitol and 13 these last 75 years it's been virtually impossible to access."

"And before that the Capitol didn't really bother with it," adds Johanna with a wry smile. "They had enough resources to exploit."

"Luckily, some cartographers and military types from 13 were looking into the region. That's where we got this map. Gotta know your neighbors, right?"

"Neighbors?" I ask, feeling that this is a lot of new information to take in, especially when my head refuses to stop pounding. _Peeta, Peeta, Peeta_ beats the steady tattoo.

"Yep. Point is, we think there are several terrorist cells located in these mountains—the Rockies they were once called. See those clusters?" asks Beetee gesturing to some regions glowing on the map. I nod. "Those are them."

"And the dots moving overhead?" I ask. I shake my head, but the drum continues _Peeta. Peeta. Peeta._

"Those are hovercrafts," breaks in Haymitch. "We've got a map like this for District 12, too. Although the first-class moron that was on duty says he didn't see anything before the attack."

"None of these new mechanisms are foolproof, Haymitch," explains Beetee tiredly, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Useful advances in science and technology were basically non-existent during the Capitol's reign. Sure we made electronics in District 3, but they were mostly frivolous, meant for entertainment when the elite weren't watching children hacking each other to death on TV. Or worse…they were…implements of torture, some of them…But what could anyone do? I don't need to tell you all that the Capitol has ways of _persuading,_" he pronounces the word with obvious bile, "people to do things."

"Alright," I say slowly, trying to process everything. "So these terrorists, who are they? What's their game?" _Why is everything some kind of sick game? _

Johanna fields this one, "Unfortunately there's no cut and dry answer to that. We think some of them are Capitol loyalists. It's obvious that they had some kind of emergency escape plan, but it clearly wasn't well developed. Snow though he was invincible, you see. He thought slaughtering a round of children each year and," she swallows hard, "_their families,_ would prevent another Rebellion from every happening… Hubris. Gets you every time."

"But it's clear that some of them got out," puts in Beetee, "although we're not actually all that concerned about them. It was probably mostly the rich, political elite that scrambled out of there like a bunch of cowards and we don't think they'll last so long in this rugged terrain."

Haymitch smiles grimly and adds, "Best case scenario? They run themselves into one of these other cells and we won't have to deal with them. Now _there's _a cornucopia-style bloodbath in the making."

"Ok, so who _are _you worried about then?" I'm starting to feel a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead, a precursor to full out panic. Images of Peeta lying bloodied and beaten in a cell are threatening to choke out what little concentration I have left. _Why are we just sitting here? I have to do something! _My heart is starting to race.

Haymitch knows me well enough to know that situations like this make me reckless. He grabs my shoulders and gives me a little shake. "I know what you're thinking, girl, and it's stupid. You can't just go charging out into the wilderness after that boy with no plan and no idea where in the hell you're going!"

I open my mouth to protest, but Haymitch barrels on, "I _know _you've done it before. No one's questioning your courage here, just your sanity. You're not doing Peeta any favors by doing something foolish that's gonna get you killed!"

I can't really think of any response to that. He's right, of course. Peeta would never want me to risk my life for his, but somehow the thought of his unwavering affection for me, that pure, selfless love which used to make me so uncomfortable, just makes me want to run after him even more.

I settle with a sullen glare at Haymitch. "Ok fine, but can we move this along already! Who knows—" my voice breaks. I'm perilously close to tears. "Who knows what they're doing to him…"

Johanna makes a spasmodic movement and I think she's about to grip my hand. Instead she says softly, far too softly for Johanna, "Peeta's tough, Katniss. He'll get through this and we'll find him. We will!" The steely resolve in her eye makes me feel a bit more hopeful and I sit back on the couch, ready to listen.

Beetee continues, pretending my outburst never happened and I'm grateful to him for it. "So as I was saying, we can cross the loyalists off our list. The group I'm most worried about is this one," he says jabbing his finger at a pulsating red cluster hidden deep in the mountains. Beetee's expression is so dark that I feel the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

I'm almost afraid to ask my next question. "Who are they?"

"The "Lords of Light" they call themselves, its the most ironic of names. They are a sinister, cult-like organization that's been conspiring for decades. I know this is going to be hard for you to hear, Katniss, but I need you to stay with me. No one can be sure of their methods or motives because although many have been taken in…_no one _has ever come back alive." Beetee's dark pronouncement settles over the room like a thick fog. I can do nothing but stare raptly at him, feeling completely incapacitated by fear. He continues, "They've been snatching people, mostly children, for years. The most intelligent kids from my district, those that show promise in math and science. They disappear in the night."

Beetee stops abruptly with a short of choking noise and Johanna takes over for him. "This is kind of close to home for Beetee," she explains, giving him a sad look. "Intelligence tells us that they've been working on a super-secret form of mental terrorism, you know, mind control and that sort of thing. We think that's why they wanted Peeta. Capitol doctors have been messing around with hijacking for a long time and so far Peeta is the only one to have recovered so completely."

It's the worst thing I can imagine. Mind penetration. So much worse that any physical harm that they could inflict upon him. I remember all the dark nights I spent rocking him in my arms after he fought off an episode. Shaking and twitching and crying out at unseen foes, like a shell of the person he once was. I imagine them penetrating the dark recesses of his subconscious, assailing his already mangled memories, forcing him to relive the worst moments of his life, implanting in him false moments that are worse, if that is even possible.

"So what do we do?" I say finally, my fear quickly dissipating, leaving in its wake a grim determination.

"Well," says Haymitch slowly. "There is one person who could help…He's a special agent—in charge of the terrorism dispersal unit in the Outerlands. But I don't think you're going to like it…"

I know who it is even before anyone pronounces his name. "Give me the phone," I say calmly. Peeta needs me and that's all I can think about right now.

He picks up after two rings. "Hello?"

"Hi Gale," I say, "It's me."

"_Katniss?_"


	3. The Game

I'm awake now, but it feels like I am wandering through a thick fog. How long have I been out—3 hours? 3 days? Someone must have sedated me, I think dimly. I look around and find that I am in a white room, completely empty save for a single cot in the corner. The bright white light is as blinding as the silence is deafening. _Where am I?_

My body hurts all over, probably because before I passed out I spent several hours throwing myself against the steel door, yelling her name until I went hoarse. _Katniss. _She's all I can think about. Her face, the look of alarm in her eyes as she was blown backwards by the force of the bomb. Is she here somewhere? Have we both been captured? Or did she manage to escape? I cannot even bring myself to consider the third option because it is just too horrifying.

No, she can't be dead, I tell myself firmly, willing it to be true. _She can't be! _But this inner monologue can't keep me from seeing those images flash by, the ones I've seen in my worst nightmares. Katniss, glassy eyed and limp, lying in a pool of her own blood. Katniss, lips stained with nightlock. Katniss, torn apart by shrapnel, enveloped in flames.

I let out an animalistic roar that I don't even recognize as my own and with a great effort fling myself once again at the exit. "Let me out of here! Where is she?" I bellow.

I rebound off the hard surface and am about to charge the door again, when I hear a faint clicking noise and it opens. In a split second I register the fact that there is a short, trim-looking man in front of me. He is wearing a long white lab coat and his face has the small, pointed features of some kind of rodent—like the tree-rats from the Quarter Quell I decide.

I am suddenly overcome by rage and I lunge for his throat, seeing red. But just as my fingers should be closing around his neck, I find myself thrown backwards once again with a terrific force.

"What the—" I mutter, shaking my head to clear my vision.

"Peeta, Peeta, Peeta," says the tree-rat, smiling magnanimously. "I cannot tell you how happy I am to finally meet you."

I cannot comprehend anything he is saying. Blood is pounding in my ears and I can only think of one thing. "Where is she!" I growl, lunging for him again, but I find myself zapped to the floor a second time.

"Peeta, my dear boy. You've got to stop doing that. I'm wearing a personal forcefield you see—the latest technology, cutting edge—just a precaution of course." The man is surveying me benignly as if I am his favorite pupil.

I glare up at him, too angry to even be confused by his manner or his strange, affected accent. "Where is she," I demand through gritted teeth.

"You're really going to have to stop using these unspecific pronouns. Please tell me, my friend, who exactly are you referring to?" His calm voice only serves to make me want to tear him limb from limb.

"You know who! Katniss! What have you done with Katniss?"

The tree-rat lets out a little chortle as if I've just amused him with a funny joke.

"Ah yes, _Katniss_. Your little friend Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire. Don't you worry about her, Peeta. Last I saw she was being carried off by that terrifying girl from District 7 and your _charming_ mentor—Haymitch, is it not?"

My heart leaps in my chest. _She is alive! _But the euphoria doesn't last long because I remember that people who kidnap you in a barrage of gunfire generally cannot be trusted. I narrow my eyes.

"How do I know you're not lying? Who are you?"

"Why thank you for asking," says the man smiling and bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back. "My name is Dr. Dervish, head of neuroscience. You know, I've been researching the mind for over 30 years and I don't think I've ever met with a case more fascinating than yours, Peeta." He smiles broadly.

The way he is speaking—so genial and nonchalant—unnerves me far more than if he were threatening me. What is he playing at?

"So you're from the Capitol, right?" I spit. "A loyalist."

"The Capitol? Oh, dear me, _no_. I am part of a community of scientists. A complete and utter devotion to science leaves no room for the inane bungling of politicians."

"I don't believe you! If you think you can lure Katniss here to finish the job, you're wrong! I'd die first!" And I would, had planned to so many times before.

"Peeta," intones the man with forced calm. I think I see a shadow of something dark flit across his face, but he recovers his toothy grin quickly. "You have a one-track mind I see. Let me explain this to you very simply, please try to understand. _We have no interest in the girl," _he says, carefully enunciating each word as if he is talking to a small child. "We're interested in _you. _You and your uncanny…_resilience."_

I have no idea what this man is talking about. He must be mad.

"Well then the joke's on you I guess, because there's nothing special about me," I say, laughing hollowly. "I'm an ordinary baker. I make bread and decorate cakes. That's it."

Everyone with eyes can see that Katniss is the special one out of the two of us—even my own mother thought so. It's completely ridiculous to think _I _could be the target of any Capitol revenge scheme. They must have her locked up somewhere and they're just trying to mess with me. Give me false hope and then snatch it away at a strategic point to break me for good. Well, I know how mind games work, I think grimly, remembering my hijacking with an involuntary shudder, and I'm not going to be a pawn anymore. I will fight them with every fiber of my being.

"Yes, Peeta," the rat doctor continues. "A baker you may be, but ordinary you are not. Now," he says brightly, clapping his hands. "Your sessions will start tomorrow at 9 am, so you'll want—"

"So I'll want to prepare to be as uncooperative as possible," I say tersely. Two can play at this game.

Dr. Tree-rat clears his throat and I can tell I've hit a nerve.

"Come now, Peeta. There's no need for a bad attitude. It's an honor to be here, you know. We only take the best. You should count yourself as quite lucky."

"Oh yes, terribly lucky. Tell me Dr. Dervish, have you ever had the _pleasure _of being abducted at gunpoint?"

His impossibly wide smile falters for just a fraction of a section, "_Abduction._ Such a nasty word, don't you think? In our family we prefer to use the word _adoption_. You'll see what I mean when you meet the others."

The others? I am momentarily distracted, thinking of who these others could be. None of this makes any sense. I grip my hair in frustration trying to put the pieces together and I realize that the tree-rat is speaking again.

"Peeta, once again, it was a real pleasure meeting you."

I return his affections by spitting in his direction. The doctor's smile tightens, but he shows no other sign that he is ruffled by my actions.

"I'll leave you now, you must be quite tired. I'm sure in the morning you'll feel very _obliging_".

"And I'm sure _you'll _feel very disappointed," I say with a bright false smile. "I don't care for aiding and abetting…_adoption agencies_. Good night, Dr. Dervish!"

I watch the doctor and his immutable smile exit the room, giving him a small mocking wave as he goes. When the door clicks into place I am overcome once again by overpowering silence in my cell. In stark contrast, my brain is a cacophony of scattered thoughts.

If this man is telling the truth and they really don't have Katniss, then what am I doing here? He said something about my "resilience", what the hell does that mean? And who are these others that he mentioned? If my reception into the "family" was preceded by an armed kidnapping, then I'm assuming the others had similar experiences. I wonder if we all have something in common, but I can't imagine what that would be unless this is a baker's convention and these "scientists" need to fill a really large order for wedding cakes.

My thoughts find their way back to Katniss quickly, and fear grips my heart. If she really is alive, then I know exactly what she is doing right now—formulating a plan to rescue me. How many times have we said it to each other: "We protect each other, that's what we do." I know she'll come after me, no matter how much danger it means putting herself in. That bravery and loyalty that I admire so much about her is going to get her killed and I feel sick with grief knowing that it will be because of me. My only comfort is that Johanna and Haymitch are with her. I know that they'll try to make her see reason, won't let her go running off recklessly. _They'll try_, I think glumly, and my heart drops even farther into the pit of my stomach. I'm not sure that anyone can stop Katniss doing something once she's made up her mind about it, even two combat trained Hunger Games victors.

Perhaps it would be better if I died here. I'm sure word of my death would make it back to her eventually, hopefully before she did anything reckless trying to save me.

That evening when someone shoves a tray of food through an opening in the door, I don't touch it. And the next morning when two burly men in white coats come to take me to my sessions I am ready for them. Before they know what is happening I have knocked one of them out with a well-aimed punch to the skull and I've got the other one in a choke hold using the starchy white sheets from the cot. A swarm of attendants are on me in seconds, restraining me. They give me a shot of something and I drift off into a restless state of semi-consciousness. In all my dreams Katniss' lifeless body plays the principal role.

I have been refusing to eat for several days now and no one has tried to remove me from my room since that first episode. I wonder dimly what the tree-rat's next move will be. The lack of food is starting to make me hallucinate. I see the doctor perched in a tree at the Quarter Quell. He has the spile clenched between his front paws and is smiling that mocking, irrepressible smile. I am on the ground pleading for him to throw me the spile, when I hear her voice break out across the jungles. I forget the spile and tear off in her direction. Something sharp catches me on the inside of my arm, but I don't stop running. There are hundreds of jabberjays crying out with her voice. Screaming, pleading, sobbing! "Katniss! Katniss!" I scream.

"Peeta!" I hear in response, but the voice is not hers.

"Katniss!" I cry desperately. She doesn't reply. In fact, the only sound I can hear is a faint beeping. And why is it so bright? It doesn't seem like the same green light filtering down through the jungle. I slowly register that I am lying on the white cot in my cell. Hell, I think vaguely, is a bright, white room.

The pain in my arm persists and upon examination I realize that I am hooked up to an IV, which is dripping nutrients back into my body.

"No," I mutter, trying to tear the tube from my arm. A firm hand stops me and I look up to see Dr. Dervish. He still looks very much like a tree-rat, only he's not holding a spile now.

"Glad to see that you've come around Peeta," says Dr. Dervish genially. "Is the food not to your liking? We can switch up the menu if that would please you."

I just groan and turn my face away. I am too weak to put up a fight today and I find myself wishing that it would all end peacefully right now.

"It won't do to have you like this. You'll need your strength if we're ever going to make any progress."

I turn my head back towards the doctor and find his eyes. They are black and beady. "I will _never _help you with _anything,_" I say darkly, my voice firm despite my current state, and I glare at him, refusing to look away first.

"Very well," says Dr. Dervish finally, and it feels as if an icy draft has just swept the room. He takes a small black tablet out of his pocket and pushes a few buttons on it. "I had really hoped it wouldn't come down to this."

I hear a faint buzzing sound and for a second I think wildly that it is nest full of trackerjackers, but then a holographic image springs into focus. And I see _her. _The image looks so real that I want to reach out to touch her, to stroke her cheek, kiss her hair. _Impossible!_ Where did this image come from? I want to interrogate the doctor, but I cannot tear my attention away from the scene before me. I am completely transfixed.

Katniss is in the woods and her face looks drawn and haggard. She has dark purple circles under her eyes and I can tell she hasn't been eating. There is a bandage on her head, I notice with a pang. I watch as she empties a quiver full of arrows into a roughly hewn target. _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_ They all hit it dead on. I know she is upset because this is where she goes when she is having one of those days when every flower, every child on the street, every smell reminds her of death. I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything will be all right, that I'll find a way back to her.

Then, out of nowhere, another figure appears. I'd recognize that tall, lean frame anywhere—it's Gale. He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and I feel a stab of jealousy. The feeling is replaced with guilt almost immediately. I know I have no right to be jealous, in fact, I should be glad that he is there. Gale was her best friend and I'm sure she feels better having him by her side even with all the strain between them since Prim's death. Once I squash that original sting of regret on seeing him there with her while I am trapped here, unable to do anything to ease her pain, it almost gives me comfort to know that Gale will be there to protect her. Not that Katniss ever really needed protecting from either of us.

When the hologram finally starts to fade, I find that a single tear is running down my cheek. I wipe it away angrily as I focus my attention back on my captor.

"How did you get that video?" I ask, narrowing my eyes dangerously.

Dr. Dervish sighs and then goes on conversationally, "Well, we sometimes find that our new recruits need a little…_motivation…_to help them get enthusiastic about the prospect of participating in our little community." He uncrosses his legs and leans in so close to me that I can feel his hot rodent breath on my face, "I gather that Ms. Everdeen's safety is of some concern to you."

The full magnitude of his meaning doesn't escape me. They are watching Katniss' every move, and judging by the ease and violence with which they extracted me from her side, they could obliterate her in an instant without blinking an eye. A cold sweat has broken out on my forehead, and I feel like there is something large and heavy sitting on my chest. I can hardly breath.

They have put their finger on the one and only bargaining chip that could ever persuade me to enter their game. I have no choice. It's time to play. I can't stay here letting myself starve, wallowing in self-pity, while her forehead is on the other end of a loaded gun. There is, however, one thought that gives me hope. They may have found a way to force me into the game, but in doing so they have also given me an impetus to fight.

They wanted to play, so fine, let's play. I have never lost a game.


	4. Into the Goose Shed

**Author's note: **Please, please review if you like this (or even if you don't)! I could use some comments to keep me going.

* * *

"Morning, Katniss," says Beetee when I enter the kitchen the next morning. He offers me a steaming mug of dark brown liquid. "Coffee?"

"No thanks, Beetee," I reply, remembering the distracting buzz I had gotten last time I introduced caffeine into my system. I am jumpy enough as it is without an added stimulant.

Johanna and Beetee are poring over the map of the Outerlands at the kitchen table and Haymitch is picking at a plate of eggs. The clock tells me that it is 7 am.

"Don't suppose you're thinking of taking up baking?" he says to me by way of morning greeting. "All the breads gone stale."

"Good morning to you, too, Haymitch," I reply with a scowl, plopping myself down next to Johanna. "Any progress?"

She sighs. "Not much. Right now we're just trying figure out the best route to take into the mountains. The Lords have been operating without discovery for nearly 50 years, which means they're smart. Our intelligence also indicates that they are immensely technically advanced. They're sure to be watching all the typical entrances to their stronghold, so we have to be careful about how we approach it." She pulls a plate of eggs toward herself and spoons some onto a plate for me, but I don't touch them. I've lost my appetite.

"Right now we think that our best bet is approaching it from underground. Some early sources suggest that there may be an abandoned mine shaft that runs underneath their facilities," says Beetee, gesturing towards a pile of very old looking documents and history books. "But we can't be sure until we get closer."

I nod my head, but I can't focus well enough to make any useful comment, so I stay silent. I'm still reeling a bit from last night's conversation with Gale. Since the end of the war 5 years ago I have only seen him once, when he came to apologize and to tell me that he's planning to devote the rest of his life to making amends his mistakes during the war. As far as I can tell he's been doing just that. He's risen quickly in the ranks of Paylor's new army—no surprises there—thinking strategically comes naturally to Gale; add that to his innate courage, sense of loyalty, and skill with a bow and you've got yourself an excellent soldier. I've seen him on television from time to time and he is quite outspoken on the issue of nuclear disarmament and calls for legislation that will end the use of any and all forms of torture.

I don't blame Gale for her death anymore. On my bad days, the days that I can't even get out of bed, I remember that if anyone is to blame for what happened it's me. If I hadn't pulled out those berries, hadn't extended that hand to Chaff at the interviews, hadn't become the Mockingjay, the symbol of the Rebellion, perhaps she would still be here today. As kind and sweet as she was, I feel certain that Prim deserves to walk this earth far more than I do, especially considering my short-temper, defensiveness and extraordinary talent for pushing away the people who love me the most. It took me years to really let Peeta in, despite his nearly flawless track record of honesty, loyalty, and unconditional love. And they were difficult years, too. I can't say exactly how many hours Peeta spent coaxing me out of broom cupboards or rocking me back to sleep after I woke up screaming from a particularly horrifying nightmare…only to become the victim of my misplaced rage and frustration the next day.

A sharp knock at the door shakes me from my reverie. _It's him_. Wait! I think frantically. I'm not ready! But Johanna has already opened the door and Gale is standing on the threshold. He looks good, I can't help but thinking. It must be sunnier in District 2 because his already olive skin looks tan and his dark hair is flecked with gold. I immediately hate myself for noticing because even the thought somehow feels like a betrayal of Peeta under these terrible circumstances.

The tension in the room is growing palpable and I know I should say something, but my tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of my mouth. It's Johanna who finally breaks the silence and I feel a rush of gratitude toward her for it.

"Hey there, gorgeous," she coos with mock seductiveness. "Bet you're happy to see me!"

Gale laughs and gives her a hug and then moves on to shake hands with Haymitch and Beetee. When he gets to me he pauses for a fraction of a section and I feel like he's reading me, trying to figure out what I expect from him. He decides on a handshake, but I find myself pulling him into a short embrace. His eyes widen a bit in surprise and then soften as he smiles. I'm surprised by my action too, because just a split second before I was seriously considering absconding to my bedroom and refusing to come out ever again.

It doesn't take long for Beetee and the others to get Gale up to date with what has happened and our plans so far. Apparently he has been monitoring the various terrorist cells in this area for some time now, so not much is new to him. I spend the majority of the day making up for my initial warmth toward Gale by avoiding any situation where I might have to speak to him one on one and tensing up every time our elbows brush at the strategy table. It's not that I'm trying to freeze him out, it's more that my nerves feel so frayed that I'm worried dealing with all the emotional baggage here is going to send me toppling over the edge. I've spent enough time wandering around this house feeling dead inside, haunted by the ghosts of my past. I can't afford another mental breakdown while Peeta's life is in such grave danger.

* * *

After the second day of planning I am beginning to feel like a caged animal. Part of me just wants to slip out of the house in the dead of night and track down Peeta on my own, but the rational side of my brain has somehow managed to wrestle this impulse down thus far. I think I know deep down that Haymitch is right and that it would be completely futile to go this alone, but I just feel so trapped and useless. I am far too restless and on edge to be of any real use at the planning table.

I keep telling them that I want to go hunting, to make myself useful or at least to distract myself for a while, and eventually I annoy everyone so much with my constant pacing that they give in. We need to stock up on supplies for the journey anyway—dried meat and berries, medicinal plants, nuts. The only condition is that Gale goes with me. ("Because you're not nearly as agreeable as Peeta, so if anything happens out there I'd be able never convince anyone to come after you," explains a snarky Haymitch).

I was opposed to this arrangement at first, feeling anxious about spending time alone with Gale, but after considering the prospect of spending another day huddled around that map, with nothing to distract me from imagining the horrible ways that they could be torturing Peeta, I give in. I put on my father's old hunting jacket, burying my nose in the leather and inhaling deeply as I always do. Sometimes it feels like I can smell him still—a combination of fire and pine trees and fresh earth that is so very _alive._ I reach for the new bow that Beetee designed for me, which seems to be almost vibrating, ready to spring into action, but on second thought I grab my father's old bow out of nostalgia. I also take the plant book that Peeta and I made after the Quarter Quell thinking that it may come in handy for restocking our medical supplies.

Gale and I are silent as we hike unimpeded into the forest. It still feels strange to do this without pausing to listen for that tell-tale humming of the electrified fence and then slipping underneath it. We stalk our prey deep into the woods, slowly falling back into our hunting rhythm, and we catch a lot. Gale sets snares with his long, dexterous fingers and I bag a fat wild turkey and several squirrels. I'm amazed at how easy it is, being with him like this. For a while I almost forget all the tension brought on by the Games and the Rebellion and Prim's death and, well, hormones.

It is late afternoon now and we take a rest at our old lookout spot, feeling satisfied with our haul and pleasantly tired with the day's exertion. The forest is stretched out below us like a plush green carpet and the sun is sinking low in the sky. _Orange, _I think, _Peeta's favorite color. _Gale pops a few berries into his mouth and passes me a handful. I decide to try making amends for my coldness toward him the last two days.

"Soldier Hawthorne!" I bark in imitation of an officer from District 13, "Is that berry ration approved?"

"Absolutely not," he replies with a grin.

I smile back, but my heart is starting to get heavy again as my anxiety for Peeta, somewhat muted during the hunt, returns to me in full force. I take out Peeta's and my book and open it to a sketch of ginseng, tracing my fingers lightly over the lines and imagining Peeta's strong, sure hand skimming across the page. I let out an involuntary sigh of frustration. _Where are you Peeta?_

I feel Gale's eyes on me and I look up.

"Katniss?" He says hesitantly.

"Yeah," I say faintly, returning my gaze to the book.

"Were you happy then?"

"Hmm?" I intone, confused. It wasn't a question I was expecting and I'm not entirely sure what he means.

"I mean… with Peeta… before they took him," he chokes out, flushing slightly and looking deliberately away from me. "Were you happy?"

I think of Peeta's laugh, his warm, safe arms, his kind blue eyes. I see us planting our vegetable garden in the back of the house, laughing because he has planted a row of onions upside down before I realized it. I see us swimming at my father's lake and getting covered head to toe in flour during my first disastrous baking lesson and laying flowers on Prim's grave. I see us doing our toasting in front of the fire, just the two of us, whispering vows into the night, making love for the first time…

"Yeah," I say finally and force myself to look Gale in the eye. "Yeah, I really was."

"Good," he says softly. I can tell that he means it, but there is a hint of something else too, something like sadness. "We're going to get him back, Katniss," continues Gale, his voice growing stronger and his fingers tightening on his bow. "We'll get him back and you'll be happy again."

I don't know what to say. I know there is no way I can repay Gale for what he's doing for me, and I hate feeling indebted to anyone. This is, after all, the second time he's volunteered without hesitation to rescue the man who has beaten him out for my affections.

"Gale," I say, swallowing hard. "Just because I chose Peeta…doesn't mean I wanted… to lose you." This pronouncement leaves a bad taste in my mouth because it feels hopelessly selfish. I know I can never give Gale what he wants…or wanted, I guess, because after all these years how do I really know what he wants anymore. I'm not sure if I even know what _I_ want. I try to think back to before Peeta's kidnapping, but although it's been barely two days, it seems like ages ago. Did I want Gale gone from my life forever? Certainly not. But how can I ask him to stick around while I build my life with Peeta, a decision I no longer have any doubts about? I have no right to ask this of Gale.

I brace myself for Gale's anger. I almost _want _him to yell and scream at me, to put me in my place the way he always used to do when my pigheadedness got the best of me. But he doesn't look mad at all, just pensive, like he's trying to make up his mind about something.

"I didn't want to lose you either," he says slowly as if this has only just dawned on him. "I think I just spent so much time feeling guilty about… my actions…during the war…" He squirms a little. "About Prim… And after that it was jealousy, knowing that Peeta was the better man, that he won, fair and square." Gale sighs heavily. "Not that you're something to be won!" he puts in hurriedly, holding up his hands in apology. "I guess it just felt like there was no going back. But maybe…maybe I was wrong."

He is looking at me now with such a shine of hope in his eyes that I am completely overcome with emotion—a state I prefer to never find myself in. Without thinking I draw him into a swift hug, holding him so tightly that I'm sure I must be breaking his bones. We stay like that for a long time and when we finally break apart I say to him with a smirk, "Wouldn't be the first time you were wrong, would it?"

I see just a shadow of that cocky, self-satisfied smile that used to be so prominent on Gale's face when we were together. "You'd better check your records, Catnip," he says playfully, the use my old nickname seeming to officially seal the reconciliation between us, "I'm pretty sure this is the first time it's ever happened."

When we return to the house that evening I'm sure that the others notice the fact that something has passed between Gale and I. The tension that was gripping the room like a vice for the past 48 hours has been released and we're all in better spirits because of it. After Haymitch witnesses me and Gale conversing amiably over dinner, he stops suggesting that the air-conditioning must be in overdrive and is now complaining that the polar ice caps are in danger of melting.

* * *

The next morning, after another fitful night of sleep filled with Peeta's anguished screams, we are putting the final touches on our rescue plan.

Gale is giving us the rundown. "The key to this mission is going to be stealth. Of course, the Lord's are probably already expecting some sort of retaliation on our part, but they may not expect us to know so much about the location of their stronghold. Our main asset may be the element of surprise."

"Has anyone from town gotten suspicious yet?" I ask, looking warily out the window.

"Nah," says Haymitch. "We fed Greasy Sae some story about how Beetee had to come to 12 to fix the wiring at the bakery and that's why the grand opening had to be postponed. We told her his hovercraft malfunctioned and that's what made all that noise. Considering she's the biggest gossip in town, I'm assuming everyone has swallowed the story by now. Oh, and we paid off those reporters to keep quiet—a hefty sum, mind you. You can add that onto the tab of things you owe me. Right under _your life._"

"Well, the price was worth it if that means we can stave off the media maelstrom until we can get out of here. I don't want the world's eye on us right now," remarks Beetee. "So, moving on. We'll take a hovercraft to 13, but after that we're on foot, so pack lightly…"

I'm trying hard to concentrate on what Beetee is saying, but there is large black fly buzzing overhead and it has been annoying me all morning. I swat at it absently. For some reason this action catches Haymitch's eye, and I see him nudge Beetee, pointing up at the fly. A second later I see Haymitch's hand dart out and smash the fly to the table. I am completely baffled when I hear a faint metallic _crunch_.

"Damn!" whispers Haymitch as we all lean our heads in to get a look. "A bug."

There is a sudden flurry of activity as Beetee, Johanna, and Gale dart about pulling the heavy drapes shut, overturning couch cushions, scrutinizing the potted plants, unscrewing lightbulbs…

"What the hell is going on!" I shout, feeling as if the whole lot of them have gone insane. Bewildered, I look closer at the fly on the table and realize with a jolt what Haymitch meant when he said "a bug." This is no ordinary insect, but rather a miniscule recording device. Someone has been listening in on our conversation—but for how long? And how much have they learned about our plans? I feel like the room is spinning and I think I might be sick. I see Beetee frantically rolling up the map and stuffing it into a knapsack.

"Well don't just stand there, Katniss!" shouts Johanna. "Get your shit together, we've got to get out of here! Now!"

I don't need to be told twice. I bound up the stairs to my bedroom and begin throwing things into my rucksack. It doesn't take me long since I've been prepared to leave at the drop of a hat since the kidnapping. I hurtle to the door with the essentials—clothes, flashlight, sleeping bag, knife— but I suddenly remember something else and turn around to wrench open my dresser drawer. I extract the pearl that Peeta gave me at the Quell, which he recently had mounted on to a necklace, and press it quickly to my lips before shoving it into my pocket and flying down the stairs.

Johanna is just finishing stuffing some rations into a bag and Beetee, Gale and Haymitch are waiting at the back door.

"Let's go!" yells Gale as I sling Beetee's bow and a sheath of arrows over my shoulder. The four of us tear across the backyard and it's a moment before I realize I have no idea where we are going. Didn't Beetee say something about taking a hovercraft to the edge of 13? I scan the sky, but I there's nothing in sight.

Haymitch has taken the lead now, running at an impressive pace for a professional drunk, and he veers off toward the shed where he has been keeping his flock of geese. Are we seriously hiding in a shed? _That's _the plan? But as Haymitch lifts the latch and we all pile inside, I can't help but gasp at what I see before me.

"What?" asks Haymitch indignantly, clutching a stich in his side. "You didn't seriously think I was raising geese for the fun of it, did you?"

Sure enough, his flock is huddled in the corner, looking extremely disgruntled to have been disturbed by this loud group of intruders, but beyond them, looming large above our heads, is the most high-tech-looking hovercraft I've ever seen. My mouth drops open, but I don't have time to marvel over the fantastic secret that Haymitch has been hiding in his goose shed (or be angry that he's kept it from me) because a few seconds later we're clambering aboard and strapping ourselves in to high-backed leather seats. Beetee takes the controls and Gale slides into the seat next to him as co-pilot. He pushes a button and the roof of the shed folds open.

Gale turns around to look at us, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. "You all strapped in? This thing goes _fast._"

The words have barely escaped his lips when two events seem to happen simultaneously. I hear the roar of the hovercraft's engine and the far off screaming of missile. As we shoot up from the ground and jet away from the Victor's Village, I whip around just in time see the bomb hit. The sky explodes in a spray of smoke and debris and feathers, and then I see nothing because I have been slammed back into my seat by a tremendous burst of speed. The landscape outside the window becomes a colorful blur as we hurtle through space at the speed of light.

_Peeta,_ I think, closing my eyes tightly and digging my nails into the armrests, _We're on our way!_


	5. An Alliance is Born

**Authors note: **Please review, I'd love to know what you think!

* * *

After seeing Katniss in that holographic image I know that I have no choice but to cooperate with the doctors the next morning. I spend a fitful night preparing myself for the worst. My emotions are vacillating between rage, fear, and self-pity, but by what I assume are the early hours of the dawn (it's impossible to have any perception of time in this perpetually blinding white light), I have settled on a grim, determined feeling of calm. Reflecting back on yesterday's conversation with the tree-rat, I'm more and more convinced that his interest in me has something to do with the hijacking and my subsequent recovery. I vaguely remember Dr. Aurelius making some observations on this point, probably when he thought I wasn't paying attention. _Extraordinary. _He would sometimes mutter after I had fought off a particularly vivid episode. _Absolutely extraordinary._

But even though I've made a lot progress since the hijacking, I wouldn't consider myself fully recovered. Even five years out I have moments when memories feel shiny, when some seemingly ordinary thing—the buzzing of an insect, the flash of a knife as I'm slicing a loaf of bread, Katniss making an unexpected, rapid motion—sends me hurtling into a fuzzy alternate reality. I can always tell when an episode is coming on because it feels like everything around me is moving in slow motion while I am shooting forward like a rocket into the abyss. On that terrible first day back in 13 when I tried to strangle Katniss it was the worst. I can remember, even though I have tried so hard to forget, how it felt as if the real me were hovering above the situation, seized by panic, unable to intervene in the events playing out below.

To prepare myself for the day I start making a list of the things in my life that I know to be real, starting out with the physical reality around me. I am in a white room. _Real. _I was attacked and brought here against my will. _Real._ Katniss is not here. _Real. _She is alive. I pause here for a moment because when I imagine her face it has a faint shimmer to it. Is she alive? I close my eyes tightly trying to concentrate. You saw her yesterday in the hologram. They are watching her. She was in the woods shooting into that old target. She looked upset. Gale was there. _Bam! _

I feel a rushing in my ears and I'm careening into space at warp speed. Gale. Gale and Katniss. I see him reach out to touch her chastely on the shoulder. _Real! _I tell myself frantically, recognizing the episode coming on strong. _That's all that's real!_ But now I see him pulling her close, he's running his fingers through her hair, kissing her neck. I am seeing red. My whole body begins to shake violently. I see Katniss' eyes flash at me over Gale's shoulder and she is smiling— a terrible, jeering smile that is so unlike her own. _So unlike her own! It's not real! Not real. Not real. Not real. _I'm gripping the edge of the cot so hard I feel like I might snap the cold metal with my bare hands. _Not real. Not real._ I continue to chant, rocking back and forth.

I feel myself slowing down and the white room swims back into focus. _Real. _I am covered in a cold sweat and my fingers are white from gripping the cot with such intensity. This is the worst episode I have had in a long while and my heart is gripped by fear when I imagine what might have happened if Katniss had really been by my side. I know that uncertainty and stress exacerbate the problem. During my therapy Dr. Aurelius told me to stay away from intense situations that might trigger an attack, but I suppose kidnapping is not something that I could have actively avoided. I focus on bringing my breathing back to normal and I try using Katniss' coping mechanism. _I am Peeta Mellark. I am 21 years old. I escaped the Hunger Games twice. I am a baker. I am in love with Katniss Everdeen. _

When the men in the white coats come to collect me in the morning I don't protest.

I know that I need to be alert during this first excursion into whatever lies beyond this room because every observation could be useful to me as I plot my escape. I will be cooperative, let them think they've broken me. We march down a hallway that is still white, but less blindingly so than my quarters, and I don't see another soul, despite the fact that the walls are lined with doors. My escorts each have a firm hand on my shoulder in a way that let's me know it would be fruitless to attempt giving them the slip.

I try to stop my heart racing, but the thought of the tree-rat, or any other "scientist for that matter, probing into my brain makes me feel ill. I think about Katniss. If she were here right now she wouldn't be afraid, she would have snapped into crisis mode, carefully analyzing the situation, keeping her emotions at bay. I know that she must feel fear sometimes— I've seen enough of her nightmares to know that it's not a completely alien emotion to her—but somehow she always seems so _strong. _During my recovery she never once backed down when my attacks came on even though I would yell for her to run away. Instead she would take my face calmly in her small, callused hands and whisper, "Not real, Peeta, not real. Not real. Not real. Not real." The thought of her courage forces me to pull myself together.

I continue to scrutinize my surroundings. We have turned onto a wider corridor and I finally see some people, men and women all in identical white lab coats bustling around with clipboards and talking into electronic tablets. Some of them turn to stare curiously as I am escorted through the crowd. I still have yet to see a single window. Could we be underground? If we are, then building this facility must have been a massive undertaking because it feels like these corridors stretch on forever. Finally we halt outside one of the doors and I am shunted inside.

The light is so dim in here that it takes a full minute for my eyes to adjust. I see a leather examination chair like you might see in a dentist's office parked in front of an enormous television screen that stretches from floor to ceiling. Oh God, please no! No more false memories, no more tracker jacker induced rage. I'm not strong enough for this yet, I think wildly, feeling as though I am already failing Katniss. My chest is constricting and I hear the rushing sound beginning to build up in my ears. I punch my fist hard into my bad leg where I still often feel an ache, and the sharp, stabbing pain that shoots up through my body is enough to chase away the oncoming episode…at least for the moment. I force myself not to resist as the attendants strap me into the chair, but it is taking ever ounce of fight that I have in me. The panic is at a climax when I hear a buzzing sound and feel one of the men shaving my head. I watch my blond locks, which have grown out rather long since the Rebellion, fall to the floor. Then they are attaching sticky receptors to my bare scalp and I can't help but let out an anguished cry when I see the wires protruding from my head. The two men leave the room soundlessly.

Then I hear a calm, disembodied voice echoing through the room and I thrash around in my seat trying to see where it is coming from. I know that voice. It's Tree-rat.

"No need to be afraid, Peeta. We're not going to hurt you. We only want to find out what makes you tick. Never mind the wires, those are just going to help us see which parts of your brain you're using. Now, I'm going to need you to just relax…"

The rushing sound is back in my ears but focus my attention on the physical things around me and assess their reality. I dig my fingers into the leather seat, feeling the cool, smooth surface. _Real._ I wiggle the toes on my good leg and feel them brushing up against the insides of my white hospital slippers. _Real. _

"I want you to look at the screen Peeta," says the doctor in a soothing voice. I shake my head violently, screwing my eyes closed. "Listen to my voice. Relax. Everything will be fine. Just look at the screen."

I think once again of Katniss, imagining her face in the crosshairs of a sniper's rifle, and I slowly let my eyes flutter open.

"Excellent," exclaims the doctor's voice. "Now I'm going to show you some images, Peeta. I don't need you to do anything. Just sit back, relax and watch them go by. Okay?"

The first image is a clear blue sky with a smattering of fluffy cumulous clouds. No reaction. The second is a wooden rocking horse like the one I had as a child. I feel a slight pang of sadness thinking of my father, but other than that I'm ok. The images are suspiciously innocuous so far and I'm convinced this must be part of the game so I stay alert, ready to jam my eyes shut at the first sign of trouble. They continue to slide by slowly: a butterfly flittering across a field of flowers, a bowl of apples, a bookcase, a pen, a loaf of bread. No reaction. The images start to fly by faster now. A vase, an open window, my old school, a broom, a pair of shoes. Still nothing. The reel speeds up again. A fish bowl, a silver spoon, a potted plant, an Oak tree, a whistle, a wolf—_Wham!_

The ordinary gray wolf suddenly transforms into a demon, a _mutt. _It's yellow eyes become blood red, it's claws elongate into deadly talons. It is gnashing its teeth now and bearing down on me. I can't outrun it with this leg I think, terrified. As the fear and adrenaline build up inside me I see the mutt transforming again and I see Katniss' face framed in a crown of mangy black fur, her wild eyes staring me down, her teeth dripping with blood…_MUTT! _I'm screaming now. _She's a mutt! _I am struggling against my restraints, trying to free my hands. I want to drive a blade straight through her heart. But then I hear a voice in my head, faint, barely audible above the roaring in my ears and the sound of the mutt's angry growls.

_Not real, _says the faraway voice. _Not real!_

_Lies!_ Screams the louder voice, overcome with rage. _She's a mutt!_

But the small voice is gaining strength. _Not real. Not real. NOT REAL! _Katniss' face is so shiny…there's something wrong about it…something _not real._

_Katniss loves me_, says the voice. The mutt pauses mid pounce, clawing the ground angrily, looking confused. _Katniss loves me, _says the voiceagain, this time with power. The mutt stumbles, its tongue lolling, eyes out of focus. _Mutts don't stumble, _I think, and realization suddenly dawns on me. I am quaking uncontrollably and my back arches up as I writhe in my chair. I'm lucid now and perfectly aware that I am in the throes of an attack, so I fight it with everything I have.

_Not real! Not real! Not real!_

I feel the demented, irrational rage losing its grip on me and with a last monumental push I see mutt-Katniss explode into a million pieces. The fragments fade slowly back into the form of a simple, docile-looking wolf, and I collapse back into the chair, completely spent.

"Bravo, Peeta!" comes the elated voice of Dr. Dervish, who has materialized at my side. "That was _fantastic!_ Everything we had hoped for. The master is going to be so pleased."

I'm so drained that I cannot even begin to fathom who this "master" is. All I can feel is relief. If for some reason this episode has pleased my captors, then that is one more reason for them to leave Katniss alone. I cling to that thought like a life preserver. The doctor is detaching the wires from my head, still chattering happily about the apparent success of the trial.

"Well," he says, clapping me on the shoulder jovially, "you must be starving after that splendid effort."

I want to ignore him, but my stomach betrays me by giving a loud rumble. I can't deny it—I'm famished. Dr. Dervish chuckles good-naturedly and snaps his fingers at the door. One of the attendants comes back in bearing a set of metallic bracelets much like the one's they gave me in 13 to keep me from killing Katniss during my recovery. I eye them suspiciously.

"Let's just slip these on, shall we? That way we can give your attendants a little break."

As wary as I am of putting the bands on, I'll be happy to escape the constant supervision of those two thugs, so I don't put up a fight. To be honest, I'm so exhausted from fighting off two episodes within the last 48 hours that I don't think I could cause anyone serious harm right now anyhow, but there's no way I'm going to let _them _know that. I pull myself slowly to my feet, swaying a little. The doctor and I make our way back into the main corridor, but instead of turning back towards my cell, we take a left and I find myself standing on the threshold of an enormous room with a tall, vaulted ceiling. It looks like a cafeteria of sorts. Rows of long tables run along the walls and I see a ping-pong table and a television in the corner. There is a group of middle-aged men playing chess nearby and next to them I see a group of kids who look like they've barely hit reaping age scribbling out the most complicated-looking math problem I've ever seen in my life on a 10 foot wide chalkboard. A tiny girl in pigtails and a lanky bespectacled teen with bad acne seem to be having a disagreement over the resolution because they are wrestling each other for the chalk. _They look so young_. In fact, as I do a quick sweep of the room I notice that nearly half of them appear no older than 18.

"Peeta," cries Dr. Dervish opening his arms wide and flashing me that terrible toothy grin, "Meet the family!"

A couple of kids nearby look up at the sound of his voice and give him a cheery wave. "Hi Dr. D!" they call.

I feel my jaw dropping. The doctor must notice because he chuckles to himself and claps a hand on my shoulder. I flinch at the touch, imagining a tree-rat's greedy paws digging into my flesh. "I tried to tell you Peeta, but you wouldn't believe me. All of our residents are happy here, we have protected them from the Capitol, nurtured their talents, given them a place where they feel they can _belong. _And now you have the chance to be just as happy as them. Your new life is finally beginning!"

My brain is telling me that this is the most ridiculous cocktail of lies that I have ever heard, but my eyes are making me second-guess myself. Everyone I see seems to be brimming with cheerfulness—it's like an entire room filled with Delly Cartwrights! I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again, thinking that I must still be a little cloudy from my attack. I can't understand it. How did all of these people get here? Is it possible that they really did come here of their own accord? _No_, I tell myself firmly. There is something really strange going one here, and whatever it is, I can't let myself get sucked in. My mind flashes back to the night before the first Hunger Games, on the roof with Katniss. _I just want to think of a way to show them that they don't own me_, I had said, _that I'm not just a piece in their games_. I must not let my guard down for a single second.

The harsh trill of a bell rings out in the hall and I'm surprised when I see everyone stand up with extraordinary precision and move towards a station at the far end of the room. Before I can protest, the doctor places a firm hand on my back and guides me into the queue with the others.

"Time for your vitamins!" he cries, and seeing my confusion adds, "Since the Capitol has forced us underground we're all in need of extra supplements to make up for our lack of vitamin D from the sun."

It sounds like a pretty thin explanation to me, and if these people are supposed to be Panem's best and brightest, I can't imagine how the doctor got them to swallow the story. Yes, there is definitely something wrong about this whole situation, but with each new discovery I am just becoming more and more confused.

"Well, Peeta my friend," says Dr. Dervish. "This is where I leave you. I'm a busy man, you know. Someone will be round to take you back to your quarters after lunch. I _so _look forward to our next session." And with a slight bow he is gone.

I'm almost at the front of the line and I'm dreading the injection. Who knows what is in these "vitamins", but I'd bet my entire Hunger Games winnings that it's responsible for the unnatural cheerfulness of the other captives. I twist the metallic bands on my wrists feeling certain that stepping out of line is not an option. I'm about 3 people away from the counter when I notice a small man with thin wire spectacles staring pointedly at me. I glance casually behind me to see if there's anyone there and then raise my eyebrows questioningly, as if to ask, "Who, me?" I see the man give the faintest hint of a nod. There's something different about him. For one, he is not smiling manically, and for another, his eyes are devoid of that vapid, hazy look that the others all seem to have. Although I'm sure I've never met him before, he reminds me of someone I know, I just can't quite put my finger on it. I take another step forward in line and when I look back he has vanished.

"Next," comes a bright voice from a curly-haired woman. Distracted, I whip around just in time to see her seizing my arm. She plunges the needle into my skin without any warning and I feel a slight sting as the cool liquid enters my blood stream. I feel my mind beginning to go blissfully blank. Everything that has been haunting me since the kidnapping is slowly beginning to feel less important…

"Oof! Sorry!"

I feel someone bump into me hard, startling me out of my reverie. "Such a klutz, forgive me. Name's Dex, nice to meet you."

It's the man with the spectacles. He shakes my hand vigorously and gives me a long, significant look. The next second he has disappeared into the crowd, and I realize with a start that I have palm full of small, purple pills. I don't know what makes me do what I do next. Perhaps it's the strange feeling of familiarity I got with Dex, or the effects of the injection, which is already making my will feel more pliant, or perhaps it's just because I don't know what else to do, but for whatever reason, I take a quick glance around me and swallow the pill.

The effect is immediate. I feel the strange sensation of calm fading and my brain becomes clear and alert as ever.

After a few days Dr. Dervish seems convinced that I'm no longer a threat to him because he removes the bands around my wrists. Peeta:1, Tree-rat: 0, I think to myself with a private smile. I know that I am expected to report to exam room 3 every morning at 9 sharp, but after my sessions I'm generally left to my own devices. I relish the feeling of freedom because it gives me time to continue to collect data for my escape plan, but I am certain that I am being watched, so I try to avoid raising suspicion. The sessions are exhausting, but not as terrible as they could be, because not all of the trials end up inducing episodes. I also seem to be getting better at anchoring myself when I feel an attack coming on. When Tree-rat repeats the exercise from the first day with different images, a photo of a trackerjacker triggers me, but I manage to fight off the episode before I lose control completely. Then he tries something similar but just with sounds (this time the mockingjay sets me off and it takes me a bit longer to recover myself). One day they ask me a series of odd questions and map my brain waves. Another day they hook me up to the brain monitor and made me perform violent tasks (throwing a spear, stabbing a melon) while staring at a giant picture of Katniss. I think that one was the worst.

Since nothing terrible happened to me the first time I took the purple pill, and I'm convinced that the injection will make escape impossible, I decide to keep taking it, surreptitiously slipping one into my mouth after every round of "vitamins." I know it's a risky move, especially since I have no idea whether I can trust the strange, twitchy man who gave them to me, but since I _know _that I can't trust Tree-rat and his goons, it's a risk I have to take. I keep trying to catch the man's eye whenever I spot him in the recreation hall (which is not often, since the other captives seem to have much tighter schedules than I) but he seems to be deliberately avoiding me. I wonder what the others are doing all day. Surely they can't all be involved in neurological research like me?

After about 4 days of sessions, I'm walking along the deserted corridor back to my room when, suddenly, a pair of hands reaches out and pulls me into a broom cupboard! Before I can even react, I see someone whose face is obscured by shadows take out a tiny ray gun.

"Argh!" I try to scream, struggling frantically, but a mammoth of a man has got his hand clapped over my mouth. The shadowy figure presses the gun quickly to the back of my neck. _This is the end_, I think. _It's all over. _But all I hear is a faint _beep_ and the figure pockets the weapon. My thoughts are running a mile a minute and none of them are clear. _What the hell is going on?_ _Think, Peeta, think! No lab coats. Then these must be other captives, right? Does that mean they're not a threat?_ I register that that there are 6 people in the room… including the little man with the wire rimmed glasses, Dex! My eyes widen in surprise. Dex puts a finger to his lips and gives me another one of his significant looks.

"Alright, let him talk, Clef," he says to the big man, who immediately removes his hand from my mouth.

"State your name," he hisses.

"What the—?" I try to protest.

"State your name!" he whispers more urgently, and I feel that this is not the time to argue.

"Peeta," I say, bewildered. "Peeta Mellark."

"District?"

"Twelve."

"Who do you love most in the world?"

"Katniss!" I shoot back without hesitation.

"And who is the biggest threat to her right now?"

"Whoever those _bastards_ are in the white coats!" I say, almost shouting now. I see the man's face relax and he signals to the big man, who must be Clef, to put me down. The man obliges immediately and gives me a sheepish smile.

"He's a gentle giant really," says Dex in an apologetic tone. "Sorry about that, but we had to make sure they hadn't turned you."

"What the hell was that ray gun thing you used on me?" I spit, still not ready to trust any of them.

"Oh that, sorry sugar," comes a soft, mellifluous voice and a middle-aged woman with black, tightly curled hair steps into the light. "We had to scramble your signal or they'd be on us in seconds. I'm Sarai, by the way."

"Wait, scramble my—what?"

"Your signal dear," says Sarai, patting the back of her neck. "We were all implanted with tracking chips when we got here, you must have been knocked out when you got yours."

My hand flies to my neck and sure enough I can feel the outline of a small, metal chip embedded there. How did I miss that?

"How do you know who I am?" I demand.

"The Hunger Games, of course," answers Dex calmly. "We're all forced to watch them as evidence of our captors' _humanity_," he pronounces the last word with obvious irony. "It's one of their many methods of mind-meddling. They try to convince us that they have _rescued _us by wrenching us away from our loved ones in the dead of night."

"But who exactly are you people?" I insist, looking around the room and still feeling a bit suspicious. They don't _look _particularly threatening. "And who are _they _for that matter?"

"Two excellent questions," says Dex matter-of-factly. He definitely seems to be the ring-leader here. "We don't have much time, so I'm going to have to give you just the basics. You've already met me, Sarai and Clef. We've been here the longest, almost since this whole operation started 50 years ago. My specialty's electronics, Clef works in the weapons unit and Sarai here's a medic. She's the one that worked out that antidote I gave you." He glances fondly at her and I think I see a faint blush in her cheeks.

"What is that injection anyway?" I interrupt. Now that I've recovered from the initial shock, I realize that I have about a thousand questions.

"Coctail of morphling and trackerjacker venom. _Terribly _addictive. Keeps people docile _and _allows the Enforcers to modify our memories so that we think we're here of our own accord. Honestly, of all the methods they've contrived to ensure our obedience, it's once of the least horrifying," says Sarai with a slight shiver. She motions for Dex to continue his introductions.

"This is Jetta," he explains, gesturing towards a wispy looking woman with long, nimble fingers. "She's an engineer—can fix _anything._ And over there are the twins, Aero and Sam—the human calculator we call them." The twins crack identical smiles and wave at me.

"And I'm Wrench," pipes up a man with a shock of jet-black hair who looks a little younger than me. "I make the jokes." He grins and whispers to me conspiratorially, "It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it." Although I'm still feeling wary, I find myself liking Wrench already.

Dex smiles, "Yes, Wrench does his best to prevent us from becoming too old and boring. But seriously, he's the computer whiz. I think he was hacking systems in the cradle." I've never seen a computer before, technology like that was strictly controlled in 12 even if anyone could have afforded it. I make a mental note to ask Wrench about them some other time.

"So that's everyone in the inner circle, but we've got a lot of other allies, mostly the younger recruits because by then we had developed the antidote and could get to them before they were so drugged and brainwashed that they were beyond recovery. You can recognize them by the clarity in their eyes."

It's too much information to process, but what they're saying sounds plausible. Plus, there is something about Dex's candid, matter-of-fact way of speaking that inspires trust.

"As to your second question, who are _they_, that one's a bit more complicated. They call themselves the 'Lord's of Light.'" I must be smirking, because Dex smiles and says, "I know, terribly ironic name, right? But we think they weren't always so vindictive. From what we can gather the founders were a group of exiles from the scientific community in District 3—geniuses. They were frustrated by the Capitol's strict control over science and technology and since their numbers were far too small to seriously defy the Capitol where they were, they eventually fled to the Outerlands—that's the wastelands beyond District 13—and began building their 'Empire.' When I first got here about 40 years ago things were still pretty good around here, I mean, if you overlook the fact that we were brought here by force. I think at the beginning the founders seriously did want to advance science for the benefit of humanity, but like so many others before them, they became corrupted by power and greed."

"And some of the first recruits actually were volunteers," chimes in Clef. "But around the time Dex, Sarai and I got here things had taken a turn for the worse."

"That's right," continues Dex. "Rumor has it that the founders had a big falling out over recruitment techniques—there were some who were opposed to kidnapping children. But apparently they were either won over, or more likely, disposed of, because since then the majority of new recruits have come here against their will."

"So who are the people in charge around here then? They can't all founders," I ask, thinking that a lot of the goons enforcing security seem to be around the same age as Dex.

"No, they certainly aren't founders, dear," says Sarai kindly. "Most members of the original circle are dead by now, although we assume that the one they refer to as 'The Master' must be one of the remaining founders. Unfortunately, most of the folks in charge these days (we call them the Enforcers) were once victims of kidnapping themselves."

"Sad, but true," says Dex, shaking his head. "Take your Dr. Dervish for example."

"You mean the tree-rat?" I exclaim.

Dex snorts. "That's the one! He came in the same cohort as me and we were classmates back home in District 3—both just 14 when they scooped us up. Dervish was easy to turn, drawn to the promise of power, I guess."

"It's been 15 minutes," says Jetta suddenly.

"Ok, time's up Peeta," says Dex briskly. "What do you say, are you with us?"

I hesitate just slightly, but when I catch a glint of steely resolve in his eye, I'm finally won over. I extend my hand to him and say firmly, "I'm with you."

I see smiles break out across the room and Wrench gives me a thumbs-up.

"Fantastic!" says Dex. "Now, Peeta, you've got to be very careful to take those pills consistently—don't miss a single day. But you're going to have to act like you're under the influence—try to keep a smile on your face and your eyes unfocused. Don't let anyone provoke you or it could blow your cover. We had a couple allies get caught a few years back. We're pretty sure that the Enforcers chalked up the their drug resistance to some kind of rare, inborn immunity, but the point is, we never saw those kids again. Don't let your guard down for even a second, because someone is always watching."

"So no pressure, ok?" smirks Wrench, but he is silenced by a sharp look from Dex.

"This is life and death here Wrench, save it for later. One last thing, don't come looking for us—don't even acknowledge us anywhere public—we'll come to you. How are you feeling?"

"Overwhelmed," I sigh. "But in a good way, I think."

I look over at Sarai and she gives me an understanding smile. "I know it's a lot to take in, sugar. But we're gonna get you out of here and back to that sweet girl of yours, you hear?" I nod, feeling a little bit better.

We are just preparing to leave the cupboard in shifts, when I remember something. "Hey, Dex? I know this is crazy, but you look so familiar to me…"

Dex, who is listening at the door, turns around slowly to face me, a small, sad smile on his face. "I believe you're acquainted with Beetee, yes?"

Puzzled, I nod my head, still not quite putting the pieces together.

"He's my brother," says Dex.


	6. The Enemy

The hovercraft ride lasts only a few seconds, so when I feel us touch down gently I'm sure there's been a mistake.

"We're there?" I ask uncertainly.

"Yep," says Gale, who has already unstrapped himself. "The speed makes this thing virtually undetectable—and more importantly, very difficult to shoot down."

I undo my seat belt and stand up with a wobble. Then I round on Haymitch. "I can't _believe _you were hiding this in your goose shed."

He winks at me. "We all have our little secrets."

I grab my pack and we descend into a clearing in a dense forest. This must be the edge of the Outerlands, just beyond District 13, but it looks a lot like the woods where Gale and I hunt. I think about that fateful reaping day when Gale suggested we run away, leave the district, live in the woods. Would we have made it this far, I wonder?

Johanna hands out canteens and sleeping bags that compress down to the size of my fist, while Haymitch and I drag some pine boughs over the hovercraft to make it less visible from the air. Gale and Beetee have the map out again and seem to be making last minute assessments on our course of action. Beetee looks oddly agitated. I know he's fond of Peeta—it's hard to find anyone who's not—but it makes me wonder if something else is bothering him. Perhaps he's just anxious because he's got the clearest idea of the dangers we're likely to encounter along the way.

Beetee hands us each a high-tech looking radio and pulls us in for one last group huddle before we start our trek. "Ok crew, I'm giving you each a radio transmitter for emergency communication in case we get separated. We're going to be heading northwest and at the very least it's going to take us a week to reach the mountains—more likely two weeks—"

"_Two weeks!_" I shout, startling a flock of songbirds out of the nearby trees, panic rising in my chest. "Peeta could be dead by then _or worse_!" I'm thinking of how he looks after fighting off one of his episodes—pale, clammy, sunken unseeing eyes…

"Katniss, I know you're worried, but I need you to stay calm. We'll do our best to move quickly," says Beetee bracingly.

I look desperately at Gale as if he might somehow contradict Beetee, tell me the distance is shorter, but he shakes his head sadly. "Sorry Catnip, we've mapped out all the possibilities and this is the shortest route we can take without running up against another terrorist cell—"

"So screw the other terrorists! Just let them try to stop me—I'll kill them all!" I'm visibly shaking now and underneath my rage I realize that I must sound like a crazy person.

"Nobody really doubts you're capable of that, Sweetheart, but as you'll recall, this is why we don't let you make the plans," drawls Haymitch shooting me a long-suffering look. "You go in there guns blazing, stirring up a racket, and it'll be like you're sending the Lord's a nice little save the date card for your arrival. They'll triple their security measures before you can say 'I'm a moron.'"

Furious, I make a move to tackle Haymitch, but Gale grabs my shoulders and holds me back. "Come on, Katniss, you know he's right. A jackass, but right. We're only wasting more time here arguing. If we get going now we can still get a good half day's hike in."

I feel a tiny prick of shame, knowing that the others are right, but I absolutely refuse to admit it. "Fine," I grunt, readjusting my pack on my shoulders. "Let's go."

"That's the spirit, Sweetheart," says Haymitch smirking.

As we begin our march into the forest Johanna sidles up to me and surprises me by saying, "He's just worried, you know? And too emotionally stunted to let anybody see it. But I caught him looking like he was ready to cry his eyes out over one of Peeta's dumb old paintings the day before we left."

Was that _Johanna Mason _trying to make me feel better? I remember Peeta once telling me that I don't understand the effect I can have, but over the past few days I'm coming to realize that it's really Peeta who doesn't understand the effect _he _can have. Why else would everyone be putting up with my terrible temper and increasingly irrational behavior? It's because of Peeta. Because he is kind and true even when everything else is going to hell, and because everyone knows that Peeta wouldn't hesitate to throw himself into harm's way for one of us. I increase my pace. We've _got _to find him. Failure is not an option.

When the light begins to wane and we start tripping over tree branches and loose stones, Gale insists we stop and make camp for the night. I want to keep going, but after my outburst this morning I decide to defer to him as a peace offering. I gather some kindling and build a fire while the others set up three small canvas tents, positioning them in a semi-circle with their mouths facing in. Once the fire is built up we unwrap some of the squirrel meat that I had packed and roast it on sticks. The meat combined with one of the few remaining loaves of Peeta's bread and bit of goat cheese makes for a pretty decent supper. I think we all feel a less on edge after eating, and despite the circumstances, we have an almost pleasant evening. We even laugh a little when Johanna tells us a hilarious anecdote about a Capitol woman she met at a party on the victory tour. The woman had used so much hairspray to secure her foot high up-do that the whole thing burst into flame when she leaned over a candle at dinner. In absence of anything better to stifle the flames, Johanna "had no choice" but to dunk the woman backwards into the chocolate fondue fountain.

"I thought I was gonna get it big time for that little stunt," say Johanna through snorts of laughter, "But the crazy lady just keeps going on and on about how I've saved her life and that it was obviously my ability to respond quickly in a time of crisis that helped me win the Games."

Ah, nothing like Capitol bashing to bring people together, I think to myself as our laughter dies down. We all sit in silence for a while after that, watching the flames burning themselves out and listening to the sounds of the forest coming alive at night.

The next morning I'm up at the crack of dawn and before the others have even emerged from their tents I have found a nest of eggs and some berries and am throwing together breakfast. I pace around the campsite urging them to eat more because we'll need our strength today, but I barely touch my own food. I know I won't feel better until we're on the trail again.

The forest feels like it goes on forever. We wind our way through towering pines and firs, dipping into valleys, and skirting along ridges, the terrain slowly growing rockier and drier than back home. Although the sun is burning brightly overhead, the dense trees keep us relatively cool on the ground and we are moving at a good pace considering the rugged terrain. We're making an effort to stay alert, but Beetee says we're still too far out to run into any real trouble, so we haven't drawn our weapons. Judging by the position of the sun it's about 2 or 3 when we stop for lunch at the edge of a crystalline lake. I show Gale how to make fishhooks like Mags taught me at the Quell, and even though we're both more confident with a bow, we manage to catch a few trout.

And so the days roll on. I prod everyone out of bed at the first sign of dawn, drive us at an impressive pace all day long and then grudgingly agree to make camp when it's become too dark to see our feet. By the fifth day of this everyone is pretty spent, including myself—though the bubble of fear in my heart, expanding painfully everyday that we don't find Peeta, prevents me from really noticing how tired I am. Haymitch is starting to exhibit signs of withdrawal, because even though he packed a good supply of white liquor and Johanna's been watering it down to make it last, there was only so much he could carry. This only serves to make him more irascible and crass than usual, which in turn makes the rest of us, who are already on edge anyway, increasingly irritable. Even Beetee, who is the most even-tempered out of all of us, is starting to snap at people in a very uncharacteristic manner.

"Of course I'm sure we're going the right direction Gale!" he barks on the 6th day of our journey. "I'm looking right at the compass, aren't I? North-west!" Beetee shoves the compass under Gale's nose so he can take a look. I catch Gale's eye and we both look up towards the sun.

"Um, we're supposed to be going north-west?" I ask haltingly.

"Yes, north-west!"

"The sun's in the wrong position, Beetee!" cries an exasperated Johanna, following my gaze and realizing the mistake herself. "We're headed east!"

"How can that—how can that be?" splutters Beetee, smacking the compass, which still stubbornly points west. "Look at this!"

"I don't know, but the sun don't lie," says Haymitch grumpily. "We've lost the entire morning now."

I know it's not Beetee's fault. He's probably smarter than the rest of us put together, but District 3 makes electronics, a trade that doesn't much lend itself to learning how to navigate in the wilderness. I try not to sigh too much as we turn around and begin backtracking. Beetee, however, can't get over the mistake with the compass. He is staring at it and muttering to himself as he paces to and fro.

"And now I'm going south…_north. _I'm headed west…_east!_" It looks like he's doing an ungainly sort of dance, darting forward and then backward, pirouetting and then skittering in the opposite direction.

"Beetee, what—?"

"Shh!" he hisses, obviously concentrating hard on something the rest of us are oblivious to. He takes one last long look at the compass and then raises his face to meet our questioning eyes with a worried expression on his face. "Someone's tampering with magnetics. It's throwing the compass off. Not an easy thing to do, either, they must be even more scientifically advanced than we had thought."

At Beetee's words Johanna, Gale and I draw our weapons in a flash and begin scanning the forest for intruders, but there is no one there.

"I'm not really worried about a physical attack at the moment," says Beetee. "I doubt any of them would stray this far from the stronghold, and we're still quite a ways out by my calculations. They must have set up some sort of perimeter with deterrents—you start getting too close and you trigger a mechanism that messes with your navigational devices. Clever."

I'm not ready to let my guard down. "Do you think they have more traps?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it," he mutters, squinting into the trees ahead of us. "And it could be anything, so we're going to have to be very careful from now on. Like I said, I think we're unlikely to face human assailants at this point, but who knows. Gale, why don't you take the lead and Katniss can bring up the rear—you two are the best shots."

We continue our march on high alert, but it's difficult because none of us really know what we're looking for. The first obstacle was so unobtrusive that we didn't even notice its effects for half a day. I keep wondering what the next thing will be—will it be offsetting but relatively harmless like the trick with the compass, or something more physically dangerous? I start remembering all the things the Capitol threw at us in the arena—fireballs, raining blood, killer monkeys…jabberjays…" I tighten my grip on my bow as the fear tightens its grip on my heart. I find myself jumping out of my skin at every snap of a twig and Haymitch actually sends a knife flying into a bush before he realizes that his sinister foe is actually a fluffy rabbit.

"I'd like to thank you personally for your cowardice, Haymitch. I'm starving," says Johanna, shooting him a mocking grin.

I clean the rabbit, while Gale goes out to find some wood for the fire. Pouting, Haymitch has inclined himself against a spruce tree and pulled his hat over his head. Johanna and Beetee consult Peeta's sketches in the plant book, and after a few minutes they have managed to collect some wild mushrooms and herbs that will make a nice addition to our rabbit stew. I'm just about done with the rabbit when Johanna looks up suddenly. "Where's Gale?"

It takes a second for her words to set in and then I'm jumping up as if I'm on fire. _Gale should be back by now! _ Now I'm crashing through the underbrush shouting his name, my heart pounding like a drum.

"Gale! Gale, where are you?"

I hear the others shouting his name too. My feet can't run fast enough. First Peeta, now Gale. I can't lose both of them—I can't! And then suddenly I hear a shout off to my right. "Katniss! Over here! I found him!"

Relief washes over me as I rush towards the sound of the voices, but when I arrive in the clearing I am met with an odd sight. I see Gale swaying gently from side to side as if he's moving in time to a waltz only he can hear. He has a goofy grin plastered to his face and is straining against a bemused Haymitch, who has a grip on the back of Gale's shirt. Physically he looks unharmed, but there is something incredibly unnerving about the dazed, blissful expression he is wearing.

"Lemme go," protests Gale mildly, his voice at least two octaves higher than usual. "It's so…_beautiful."_

Gale is swiping at the air in front of him as if he's trying to catch something, and Haymitch is digging his heels into the soft litter of sand and pine needles on the forest floor with the effort of trying to restrain Gale from going after whatever it is that is "so beautiful." Johanna stands off to the side, arms folded, with a look of profound bafflement. It's like President Snow has started handing out lollipops. I have no idea what to make of Gale's odd behavior until I hear it. _The most beautiful sound in the world. _

It starts out a single ethereal note, heart-wrenchingly sorrowful and yet jubilant at the same time. I feel the sound vibrating through my body, pulsating like the pumping of my heart, coursing through my veins. The melody is moving now, the notes gliding through the air like a Mockingjay on wing, flowing like water over smooth stones. I am swelling with happiness. There is something familiar about the timber of the voice—so deep and resonant—and I let the sound envelope me like my father's arms. I feel safe and warm. _Where is the music coming from? I must find it, must draw it in to my bosom, must cradle it in my arms like a newborn child. Where is it? _I vaguely notice that Johanna, Beetee, and Haymitch have heard _it_ as well. _Where is it? _I begin to sway back and forth, lifting onto my toes. I feel light, like my body will catch on the current of song and float away. Rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling like the gentle motion of a sleeping chest, like Peeta's sleeping chest…_Peeta's sleeping chest! Peeta!_

With a herculean effort I am suddenly wrenching my consciousness out from under a current of song, straining against the tide to bring my mind back into focus. I still feel a bit like I am floating, but as the forest comes into sharper relief, I know I am winning. I clap my hands over my ears. _Think, Katniss, think! It's the music—it's a trap! _I cautiously remove one of my hands, tear two shreds of fabric off my undershirt and stuff them quickly in my ears before the hauntingly beautiful song can capture my faculties again. The others have scattered into the forest, each chasing a separate, elusive tune. What in God's name is going on?

I start tearing off more strips of fabric and race over to Johanna, who is closest. I jam the plugs into her ears and give her a little shake.

"Johanna!" I shout, grabbing her face and forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are wide and glassy. I slap her cheek sharply. "Johanna! Look at me!" I see a sliver of recognition flit across her eyes and I know that she is still with me. She blinks. The look of rapture on her face falters, and with another slap to the cheek it falls away completely. I don't think I've ever been happier to see Johanna's signature scowl. I shove some of the fabric into her hands and gesture to my own ears. She understands immediately and takes off after Beetee while I hunt down Gale and Haymitch. Gale has been under for so long that I have to deliver a shift kick to the back of his knees and tackle him to the ground in order to force the plugs into his ears.

A few minutes later we are all lying on the ground, chests heaving from exertion, exchanging glances of utter bewilderment. I know we have get away from this clearing, _far _away. So I force everyone to stand up, gather our things and stagger off in the direction we had been heading. We've been stumbling along for at least 45 before I tentatively pull one of the strips of fabric out of my ear, ready to jam it back in at the faintest hint of a song, but all I hear is the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. I breathe a sigh of relief and gesture to the others that they can remove their earplugs.

Haymitch is the first to speak. "What the _hell_ was that?"

"I have no idea," says Johanna, pressing on her ears as if she's trying to make sure they still work. "But Hawthorne here looked like he was about ready to perform a ballet."

Gale chucks a pinecone at her and Haymitch lets out a snort of laughter.

"That was the strangest thing I've ever felt," I mutter, still unable to shake the sound of the music from my mind. The complete and utter rapture I experienced when I heard that first plaintive note has disappeared and left me feeling exhausted and uneasy.

"Ditto, Kid," says Haymitch. He looks over at Beetee. "What do you think Brainiac? Another trap?"

"Must've been," replies Beetee, scratching his head in puzzlement. "But I have no idea what kind."

We all stand in silence for a few moments trying to imagine what could be the cause of our mutual… hallucinations… or whatever is was. Suddenly Gale snaps his fingers.

"Siren finches," he says.

"Huh?"

"Siren finches!" says Gale again, and I see recognition registering in Beetee's eyes. "Back at the defense department we were going through old Capitol files and they were trying to develop a new kind of muttation—an bird that could lead people astray with a song."

"That's right," agrees Beetee. "I remember now. They are named after the Sirens—creatures from ancient mythology who would lead sailors to crash their ships against jagged cliffs by entrancing them with their irresistible song."

"But that file was incomplete," puts in Gale. "I don't think the Capitol never figured it out."

"Well, someone did," I say darkly. "And I'm pretty sure we can all guess who. I wonder how close we all were to throwing ourselves off a cliff or something?" My words hang heavily in the air. None of us want to consider the possibility. We decide to keep our makeshift earplugs handy in case we run into anymore Siren finches.

We press on through the forest and I can tell by the tension in my companions' faces that they are as unnerved by the morning's events as I am. Somehow the forest feels more menacing than before, like it is pressing in on me, choking out the air. But I remember Peeta and I swallow my fear. I can't afford to panic.

We don't run into anything nearly as sinister for the rest of the day-although we do spend a few hours walking around in a circle when we keep coming up on the same boulder over and over again. It's our third time around before I spot a tiny shimmering chink ahead of us and realize there must be some sort of mirage-like forcefield. Johanna chucks a stick at the boulder and we're all surprised when we see it fall right through the mass of rock. We pass through the mirage and continue on our way until dark.

Later that night I find myself tossing and turning in my sleeping bag. There is a tree root sticking into my back and I remember how Peeta used to rub the knots out of my back muscles after a long hunt. I can almost feel his strong baker's fingers on my skin and when the tears starting stinging in my eyes I know that I'm not going to get any sleep tonight. I shift into a sitting position. Beetee is on lookout and I can see his hunched silhouette against the light of fire. I unzip my sleeping bag completely, drape it around my shoulders and pull on my boots. Then I walk over to the fire and deposit myself on a tree stump. Beetee looks up at me and I don't think I've ever seen him look so sad. The lines around his mouth and eyes seem deeper, like he has aged years in the past week, and his brown eyes, usually warm and twinkling, seem to have lost their spark. He makes a valiant effort at a smile, but it looks tight and forced.

"Couldn't sleep?" says Beetee. It's a statement, not a question.

"Yeah," I sigh. "I was just…thinking"

Beetee nods and doesn't press me on the subject, which I'm grateful for. He returns his gaze to the dying flames. I poke the fire with a stick, nudging a fresh log over the hot embers at the bottom.

"I can take the watch over if you want to go lie down," I offer, but Beetee just shakes his head.

"Thanks Katniss, but no. I…have some thinking to do as well."

I'm not sure, but I think there was a slight catch in his voice, like he's fighting back tears. I've never seen Beetee cry I realize, and I am suddenly horrified by the possibility. I think I might not be able to hold it together if he did. We both continue to stare at the fire for a few moments. I feel like I should say something to Beetee because there's obviously something seriously bothering him, but I have no idea what to say. Peeta would know. Peeta always knows the right thing to say. I decide to skirt around the issue since that is more my style.

"Hey, Beetee? Can I ask you something?" I say hesitantly. I'm stripping the bark off a twig to give my anxious fingers something to do. Beetee gives a non-committal grunt, so I blunder on. "How do you know so much about the Lord's? I mean, it just seems like the whole thing's not…you know…common knowledge."

I hear Beetee suck in a long, slow breath and then sigh heavily. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes the way he does when he's under a lot of stress. His expression looks so pained that I'm immediately sorry for asking. Since when did I become the sort of person who initiates emotionally charged conversations?

"You don't have to answer that," I assure him, backpedaling rapidly. "That was a stupid question."

I'm surprised when Beetee answers. "No, Katniss. It's not a stupid question. It's an astute observation, and I wouldn't expect any less of you. The truth is…I knew someone…who was taken…knew them really well…"

He trails off and I realize that I'm sitting on the edge of the stump, hanging on to his every word. So this quest is personal for him then, too. For a moment I almost feel relieved to have a companion in grief, to have someone who knows how I feel, but I scold myself for thinking such a thing. Poor Beetee.

"But you know what, Katniss?" says Beetee suddenly, looking up at me with piercing, determined eyes. "Everything dies—plants, animals, people, fire…" He prods the fading flames with a stick. "Everything dies. But _hope_," continues Beetee, emphasizing the last word. "_Hope _dies last."

_Hope dies last, _I repeat to myself. The fire crackles and I notice a solitary flame licking it's way upwards amid the softly glowing embers. _Hope dies last. _

I am lost in my thoughts. I imagine that the flame is Peeta: strong, stubborn, inextinguishable. Beetee is fiddling with the knobs on his transistor radio and I can just barely hear Haymitch's light snoring in the nearest tent.

What happens next is sudden and completely unexpected.

One minute Beetee is idly twirling the radio antenna between his fingers and the next he is caught up in a mass of flailing limbs as someone—or _something—_flings itself on top of him from the canopy above. Is it man or beast? It's too dark to see! I launch myself into the fray, swiftly drawing a knife from my boot and I hear a bloodcurdling screech as the thing begins tearing at Beetee with long, sharp nails. Human then. But just barely. The thing is pawing at the radio furiously, trying to wrench it from Beetee's hands. With one hand I grab the thing's wrist and with the other I slash at its shoulder with my knife. The thing lets out an anguished hiss as my knife finds it's mark, but the cut seems to have only made it angrier and more…wild. Its looking around frantically, hands running along the forest floor, searching. _What's it looking for? The stupid radio?_ Beetee manages to wriggle free as the thing launches itself at me with renewed fury. I can feel sharp nails grating against my face, but just then, someone tackles the thing from behind. Haymitch!

I scramble to my feet and I see Gale and Johanna in front of me, bow and axe in hand, poised to take the shot. I whip around to see that Haymitch has managed to pin the thing to the ground and wrench its arms behind its back. Wait…no, the things not an _it…_it's a… _her._ I can see now that Haymitch is at least a foot taller and considerably heavier. She's tiny. I can see bones angling out sharply under the tatters of clothing covering the girl's body. She has a mane of matted brown hair and her eyes are dark, glinting pools. She's making a wild, guttural sound that is more like a growl than anything else.

"Stand back, Katniss!" yells Gale, his fingers tensing on his bowstring, ready to release the arrow at a split second's notice.

I find myself whipping my head back around to stare at the girl and we lock eyes for the first time. They are wild, there is no doubt about that, but there is something else, too. Could it be…fear? Loss? Desperation? An image of my hospital bracelet from 13 pops into my head—mentally disorientated—it reads. I can't tear my eyes away from her.

"Don't shoot!" comes my strangled cry. "Put down your weapons!"

"Katniss?"

"_I said_ _put them down, Gale_!"

I hear the girl's ragged breathing. Mentally disoriented. Starving. Lost. Alone.

"Remember who the enemy is," I say, shifting my gaze to Haymitch. I see his eyes flicker uncertainly from me to the girl, but I know he remembers uttering those words. I can feel Johanna and Gale still tense and armed behind me, but I continue to stare Haymitch down. "This is not the enemy."


	7. The Aerie

I'm starting to fall into a routine in this strange subterranean prison. Every morning I wake up, eat something dull and tasteless in the cafeteria, report to Exam Room 3 for my morning sessions, get injected with my "vitamins" and chase it with my purple antidote pills. After lunch I have taken to wandering aimlessly through the endless corridors of the facility. It's incredibly lonely. I wish I had something to do with my time, because the long hours of solitude leave me with nothing better to do than to replay the unnerving and sometimes agonizing tests I am forced to endure in each session. Yesterday was particularly horrible.

Instead of seating me in my usual leather examination chair, Tree-rat leads me into a glass, cylinder-shaped compartment and fits a slim metal band around the crown of my head.

"This is just a simulation, Peeta. The images are a mix of real memories that we have gleaned from your mind, false memories implanted there during your time in the capital, and various other scenarios that we ourselves have created. Understand?," He smiles in that benign way that makes me want to slam my fist into his nose.

"What do you mean memories you've _gleaned _from my mind?" I burst out angrily, forgetting for a moment that my "vitamins" are supposed to be making me docile.

Tree-rat just grins more broadly. "You'll see," he replies enigmatically. "Now then, when you see a scenario play out in front of you I just need you to tell me: real or not real. Got it? Real or not real." I nod numbly, trying to ignore the rushing in my ears as my anxiety builds.

Tree-rat retreats into the control room and flips on a switch.

I suddenly find myself standing on the edge of the lake where Katniss' father used to take her when she was a girl. I blink rapidly, unable to believe how real the simulation seems. I can feel the springy grass beneath my feet and a warm breeze dancing across my face. I can even hear the distant calls of songbirds in the forest and the faint buzz of a dragonfly skimming over the water near the edge of the lake. And then I see Katniss. I gasp because she is even more beautiful than I remember her. She is laughing, her dark eyes crinkling up and her head thrown back just slightly. Sheets of long, wavy hair are cascading over her bare shoulders and the wind whips the orange sundress she is wearing around her long, lithe legs. With a start, I notice myself reclining on a blue-checkered blanket, staring up at her with a look like reverence. I hand her a yellow dandelion and I hear her laugh again. It sounds like a chorus of tinkling bells. Somewhere far off I hear a voice asking, "Real or not real?" I brush it off, wanting to stay in this moment forever, but the voice persists… louder this time. "Real or not real, Peeta?"

"Real," I mutter, still entranced by what I see before me.

As soon as I utter that single syllable the scene shifts rapidly. _Whoosh! _Suddenly simulation Katniss and Peeta are both in the lake and she is holding him under the water. Her tinkling laugh has become a cruel cackle, her crinkled, laughing eyes have become blood red and wild. Simulation Peeta is struggling wildly, thrashing in the water, gasping for air. I feel the rushing in my ears and the world slowing down around me. A deadly combination of utter terror and uncontrollable rage threaten to overwhelm me. An episode is coming on. I can feel it.

"Not real!" I manage to croak. "NOT REAL!"

_Whoosh! _Again the scene shifts quickly, but I barely have time to breathe a sigh of relief before I look up to see mutt-Katniss laughing manically as she saws off a tree branch holding a giant nest of tracker-jackers.

"Not real!" I scream over the rushing in my ears.

_Whoosh! _ We are in the cave during the first Games and Katniss is gently cleaning my wounded leg with a damp cloth. "Real!" I shout immediately.

_Whoosh! _The cave is gone and we are in my bedroom in the Victor's Village. Simulation Peeta is carrying Katniss through the door, kissing her with a hungry fervor, looking as if his heart will burst with happiness. It's the night we toasted bread together and I vowed to stay with her forever. For _Always. _She is unbuttoning his shirt with quick, nimble fingers and he is tugging gently at the hem of her blouse. It slips over her head in one fluid motion and drops to the floor with a soft thud. _No!_ I shout inside my head and I feel rage rumbling deep within. But it is not tracker-jacker induced anger—it's a different kind. _Not this! This night is ours and ours alone! _That sadistic grinning Tree-rat has no business in the most beautiful moments of my life.

"Real!" I bellow, my blood boiling. "REAL I said!"

_Whoosh! _We're in District 13. I see simulation Katniss at the end of a corridor. She's running towards simulation Peeta, unbidden tears of reliefspilling out of the corners of her eyes. "Peeta!" she calls, throwing her arms out towards him. And then he grabs her, but not in an embrace. His hands clamp around her neck like a vice, his expression is cold and depraved. He squeezes harder. The color has gone out of her face and her eyes are wide and terrified. It's real. I know it's real, but I can't bring myself to say it. She struggles frantically to escape, making horrible choking noises. _God no! _I'm screaming in my head. _Stop! You're killing her! Stop! _Why is no one coming to her rescue? Someone comes to her rescue in the memory! _Oh God. She's going to die!_ I can't move. I can't do anything. I just sob uncontrollably as I watch her body go limp in his arms and sink to the floor, pale and lifeless. The tears are coursing down my cheeks and I'm tearing at my face with my nails, pounding my fists into my chest.

I hardly even notice when the doctor switches off the simulation because I have crumpled to the floor and hidden my face in my hands. I am rocking back and forth, loud sobs wracking my miserable body.

"Peeta!" I hear Tree-rat's voice calling. "It was a simulation Peeta, not real"

I'm too horrified to listen to reason. All I can do is moan, "Dead, dead, dead! I killed her, oh God! I killed her!"

A few seconds later I felt a prick in my neck and drifted off into a black, morphling induced coma. That night when I finally awoke I was alone in my white cell feeling hollow and broken and defeated. I leaned over the side of my mattress and vomited onto the floor.

* * *

Judging by the marks I have been scratching into the white metal under my cot, it's been about a week since my surprising run-in with Dex and his gang of rebels, and none of them have made any attempt to contact me since then. Today when I see Aero and Sam—the human computer— in the cafeteria, I try to catch their eyes inconspicuously, but they just stare ahead vacantly, making no sign that they have noticed me at all. I want to scream in frustration. Was I just imagining the whole thing? Are the rebels just some crazy figment of my imagination? Was it a simulation? Is this _all_ just a simulation? I feel myself losing grip on what is real and not real. Are they finally breaking me down? Was this their plan all along?

Lost in my thoughts, I realize that my wanderings have led me out onto a footbridge arcing from end to end of a cavernous workshop that looks like it has been carved straight into the mountainside. Below me I see captives milling about between different lab stations. They are operating whirring silver machines, peering into microscopes, attending to bubbling test tubes on Bunsen burners. I see a woman with silvery blond hair wearing what look to be mechanical wings and on the other side of the room there is a small group of captives panicking over a distressed looking chicken that seems to be breathing spouts of purple fire.

There is something strange about the lighting in here, too, it's not bright and fluorescent like in the rest of the facility, instead, it seems almost…natural. And then suddenly it dawns on me. The cavern is lined with tall windows, reaching up to several stories high. _Impossible._ I tell myself._ These walls are made of stone. _But I can see a cloudless blue sky outside and the branches of a cottonwood swaying in the breeze. The image is clear as day.

"Oh hello, Peeta," says a chipper voice. I tear my eyes away from the nearest window and attempt to close my gaping mouth. I see a generic looking captive grinning at me—at this point I'm having trouble distinguishing between their glassy-eyed smiling faces—they all look the same to me. I've started referring to the captives as Blanks. Is this one called Bard? Berg? I can't remember.

"Hey there," I reply cheerfully, trying to smooth out my features to be as vacant as possible. "Working hard or hardly working?" I say, nudging him with my elbow and winking. He seems to like that. All the Blanks find lame, overused witticisms hysterical. He laughs uproariously.

"Haha! Working hard or hardly working! Good one! You're funny Peet."

I try to turn my grimace into a self-satisfied smile. "Hey, so I have a question Boon—"

"Baden," he corrects.

"Right, Beakon, sorry" I say, a little too testily, "What's with these windows? Aren't we underground?"

"You know, funny you should ask," says the Blank with a wide smile.

"Hilarious, I'm sure," comes my dry response.

"I actually helped _invent _them." He puffs out his chest proudly. "They're natural light simulators and they come in all different settings and seasons depending on your mood. Watch this!"

The Blank pulls out a small remote control and pushes a button. The scene outside the windows suddenly switches to an ocean view and I can see turquois waves lapping the shore of a tropical island.

"Wow! Amazing!" I gush, remembering that effusiveness seems to be a characteristic that all the Blanks share, and Dex warned me that I shouldn't allow my behavior to appear divergent from theirs. If any of that was even real… "Ok, Beaker, well I better get going. We don't want your talent going to waste while you're standing here talking to me…"

The Blank beams at me with such child-like innocence that I begin to feel sorry for him. I've been so caught up in my own suffering and by the hole in my heart where Katniss should be that I realize I'm acting coldly against my nature. This Blank didn't ask to be here. He's a prisoner just like me. _How long has he been here?_ I wonder. My expression softens and I give him a real smile and a pat on the shoulder.

I take another look down at the activity below. Is Dex down there? Is Sarai? I find my eyes drifting over to what looks like the medical section of the workshop, but it's too far away to make out anyone's face. I liked Sarai's warm, comforting voice. When I was little and my mother was in a foul mood I used to hide myself in the tiny cabinet at the back of the bakery. I would cover my ears to her screeching and pretend that she was not my real mother—just an evil stepmother like the ones in the faded book of fairytales my father would read to me from at night. I always imagined that my real mother would sound something like Sarai. With a sigh I turn away from the railing. The chicken in the lab to my right has stopped spewing fire, although I notice that it is hiccupping bubbles now. I almost burst out into hysterical laughter over the utter absurdity of my situation, but the aching pain in my chest reminds me of Katniss and I check myself.

At dinner I find a place on the end of a long empty table in the very back of the cafeteria. I push some limp carrots around my plate disinterestedly. Everything we eat here is nearly devoid of pigment—things must be grown in the same sorts of underground gardens as they were in Thirteen. I hear a strange gurgling noise and glance up. To my right is a table of Blanks, only they look strange. Instead of the heavily starched white shirts and black trousers that are standard dress for Blanks, these people are wearing white robes and hospital slippers. Some of them look like they are having trouble feeding themselves. An old man with wispy gray hair and wrinkled, saggy skin has fallen asleep in his chair, a trickle of saliva running down his chin. A younger woman with thinning red hair is muttering to herself and arranging her mixed vegetables in a pattern on her plate: carrot, corn, pea, corn, corn carrot. They all look, well, _mad. _I see a severe looking Enforcer woman in a white lab coat leaning against the wall near the table. Her hawk-like eyes are surveying the Blanks with obvious hostility and she is tapping a baton against her hand menacingly. I notice that the mad Blanks have cuffs on their wrists like the ones I was forced to wear when I first arrived.

I'm puzzled. Surely the Lord's wouldn't bother kidnapping crazy people—it would be a waste of resources and an unnecessary risk. So something happened to them here, then. Something terrible. Something that broke them. I watch a young man who has his hands clamped over his ears shouting obscenities at the wall and I shudder involuntarily. Is this my fate? How many more times will I be forced to watch myself kill Katniss in that simulation before I find myself shuffling around in my own pair of hospital slippers? A small dark-haired girl is edging toward my table. For some reason she keeps taking one big step forward, hops back a bit and then takes another step forward. It's like she is playing hopscotch.

"Mist. Red mist. Red mist," she says hopping back on her toes. "Mist."

I lock eyes with her. They look cloudy but not quite as vacant as the other Blanks. I have an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu as I picture Wiress meandering along the beach in the Quell muttering "Tick-tock". I decide to take a risk. Everyone thought Wiress had gone off the deep end (Except Katniss, I remind myself. Katniss always trusted her), but Wiress knew something—something vital. Maybe this little girl knows something too.

"Red mist?" I ask softly, giving her an easy smile.

"Red mist!" She repeats. Something like recognition flickers in her eyes, but it passes quickly. "Mist."

"My name is Peeta," I say gently. "What's yours?"

"Red mist."

"No, not red mist. Your name. What is your name?"

"Mist," she repeats, ignoring my question and hopping closer.

Then suddenly I hear an angry buzz and a violent shock shakes the girl's entire body. With a yelp, she stumbles and I make a motion to catch her, but the hawk-eyed Enforcer blocks my advance.

"No need, Peeta," she snaps. I don't even bother asking how she knows my name. "Silly little thing is mentally challenged. I'll take this from here. Hopeless case. Tragic, you know?" The Enforcer doesn't sound very sympathetic. She grabs the girl firmly under her armpits and wheels her away. I watch them walk out of the cafeteria with a lump in my throat, wondering what will happen to the poor girl and hoping that I haven't made her situation worse by talking to her.

A slight prickle on the back of my neck causes me to wrench my eyes away from the retreating figures and whip around in my seat. I see Jetta sitting a few tables away staring after the hawk-eyed Enforcer with livid, narrowed eyes. I'm almost relieved to see the angry expression on her face because it gives me hope that I wasn't imagining the rebel scenario—no Blank could pull off that glare. I just pray to God that the Enforcer didn't notice it. Jetta catches my eye for just an instant, then pushes herself up from the table aggressively, her chair scraping audibly against the tile floor, and storms out of the hall. A few of the Blanks look up confusedly, but they do not seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. I'm assuming that the generous dose of morphling in the injection mostly dulls out their sense of curiosity.

After waiting for what I think is an acceptable amount of time, I glance around cautiously and then follow Jetta. I'm sick of waiting around for someone to tell me what the hell is going on around here—it's that same feeling of helpless as when Haymitch and Katniss were keeping me out of loop about President Snow. I run down one hallway and then another, skidding to a halt at an unfamiliar juncture. The hallways look different here. The walls are made of roughly hewn stone and there are things hanging on them—old pictures, yellowing maps, and decorative rugs. At first I think I've lost Jetta, but then I catch a streak of her long black hair disappearing around the corner of a deserted corridor. Two Enforcers holding coffee mugs emerge out of the door in front of me and I hastily draw back into the shadows behind a large potted plant. Something tells me I shouldn't let anyone see me here. As the two men disappear around the far end of the hallway I sprint forward in the direction Jetta was headed. I finally spy her peeking around the edge of a large tapestry. She's clearly been waiting for me. She puts her finger to her lips and then gestures for me to slip behind the tapestry as well. I oblige and fold myself behind the fabric in time to see Jetta's long deft fingers darting over the stone until they find an indentation that must be familiar to her. She presses down and I gasp when I see a tiny keypad appear as if from thin air. It doesn't have numbers on it, just a jumble of colorful symbols, but she must have done this a thousand times before because she quickly punches in a complicated-looking code. With a faint click the keypad disappears and a small area of the wall glows blue for a split second and then returns quickly to its usual dull beige. Jetta crouches down and for a moment I'm sure she's about to bash her head into the wall, but instead she just passes right through.

"What the—!" I mutter, completely shocked. Her eerily disembodied hand reappears through the solid stone wall and she gestures sharply for me to follow. Here goes nothing I guess… I get down on my hands and knees trying to remember where exactly the wall was glowing. It's going to be a much tighter fit for me than Jetta with my height and broad shoulders, but I figure Clef must be able to get through here, so I take a deep breath, screw my eyes shut and try not to think about the fact that I'm about to crawl through what looks like a solid wall. The last few weeks have been so surreal that I just decide to go with it and the next thing I know I find myself in a dark tunnel. Jetta is holding an old-fashioned looking lantern.

"You ok?" she asks. She holds the ray gun to the microchip on the back of my neck to scramble my signal and I don't make a fuss this time.

"Yeah, I guess," I breathe, looking back at the wall behind me uncertainly.

"It's called a Temporary Mirage Block. Latest forcefield technology. When it's not activated that area that glowed blue looks _and_ feels like stone—a visual and physical mirage—but when you put the code in you have about 30 seconds to pass through."

Before I can ask any more questions I see lanterns bobbing down the tunnel and hear a pair of muted voices. The first to come into view is Dex and he looks worried.

"Dammit, Jetta!" he cries. I'm surprised to hear the edge in his voice since last time he appeared so mild-mannered. "Wrench here says you were acting divergent in the cafeteria again!"

Jetta shoots Wrench a look of outrage and betrayal. "Were you spying on me?" she fumes. "You're always just waiting for me to screw up so you can go running to _daddy_ to tell on me."

"Jetta, come on," says Wrench with a smirk. He's trying to make light of the situation. "I can't help it, I'm the baby in this wacked out family of ours, and it's my job to tattle on big sis."

"Everything has to be a big joke with you, doesn't it? This isn't funny, Wrench! I can't stand how they treat her, zapping her, messing her around in who knows what kind of sadistic simulation-!" Jetta's voice is growing more and more frenzied until she almost sounds a bit mad herself. I'm sure she must be talking about that little dark-haired girl from the cafeteria. Wrench looks a somewhat cowed, but he's still smirking a little. "She's my _sister, _Wrench, I can't just stand by and watch her suffer like that!"

Dex puts a tentative hand on Jetta's shoulder and begins bracingly, "Jetta, I know this is hard for you, but you know why we have to be careful. Be reasonable—"

"NO! I'm not listening to reason anymore, Dex—I'm sick of _reason_!" Jetta rounds on Wrench again. Everyone seems to have forgotten I'm here. "Can't you just mind your own business for once, Wrench? What, you think you atone for what happened to Shaloma by ratting me—" Jetta doesn't get to finish her sentence because Wrench, who's expression has lost all vestiges of mirth, has launched himself at her. He grabs her and twists her into a headlock.

"Take it back!" he grunts through gritted teeth. Jetta struggles to free herself, stomping on Wrench's toe hard with the back of her heel. I wonder if I should intervene?

"No!" she shouts back, eyes blazing. She manages to slip out of his grasp and kick him in the shins. I take that opportunity to grab Wrench around the shoulders and pull him back, while Dex gets a grip on Jetta. They are both staring daggers at each other, their faces flushed and angry.

Dex sighs and gives me a weary look. "Welcome to the family, Peeta," he says.

I'm confused about what just happened, but judging by Jetta and Wrench's flashing eyes, it's not the time to ask. I _do_ know now that the mad girl from the cafeteria is Jetta's little sister—I probably should have guessed that before—and there's something about a girl named Shaloma that sets happy-go-lucky Wrench off like a tiger. Once both Jetta and Wrench are breathing normally again and have stopped straining against our arms, Dex and I let them go and recover the lanterns. Dex leads the way down the tunnel until we come to a set of tracks and an old coal car like they used in the mines in Twelve. He clambers in and we follow suit. I find myself wedged between a still seething Jetta and Wrench.

"Um, are we going down," I ask, peering down the track, which looks like it snakes deep into the mountain.

"No, not down actually, _up," _says Dex. I follow his gaze and am surprised to see that there is a shaft directly above us that seems to shoot up for miles."We've modernized this old mining equipment a bit. Hold on everybody!"

Dex pulls a worn wooden lever that looks so ancient I find myself a little worried about how "modern" the technology really is, but before I have time to question the safety of this odd-looking lift, I feel my stomach drop and we are hurtling upwards. The air is cool and damp in the mine and it blows my cheeks back as we shoot higher and higher at an impressive speed. A few seconds later I hear a clank and the whole car gives an unsettling jolt. We all pile out and I'm feeling a little green at this point—unlike Katniss, who takes to the trees like a fish in water, I've never been fond of heights. I bend over clutching my knees and taking deep breaths for a moment and when I look up I can hardly believe my eyes. I see _stars _twinkling above me. There is an immense domed ceiling that is virtually indistinguishable from the night sky! I know it's not real, must be an illusion like that window technology that the Blank showed me in the workshop, but it makes the cavern feel _free_ somehow. All around the circular chamber are a series of high-tech devices, which are blinking and making small beeping or whirring noises. In the center of the room I see the rest of the rebel team perched on comfortable looking sofas and throw pillow around a hearth, complete with a holographic crackling fire.

"Wow," I say, giving a low whistle, my eyes wide in disbelief. Dex chuckles a bit at my surprise and claps me on the shoulder in a fatherly way.

"This is the Aerie, Peeta. Our secret hideout. Our home away from home," says Dex, stretching his arms wide and smiling mildly. He ushers me over to one of the couches and sits me down next to Sarai, who puts comforting arm around my shoulders. Dex looks at me with those brilliant, penetrating eyes, which remind me so much of his brother, and says knowingly, "I'd say it's about time we let you in on what's going on around here, don't you think?"


	8. Fish

"This is _not_ the enemy," I say again, refusing to break eye contact with Haymitch. The girl is emitting a low growl from the back of her throat and her black eyes are darting rapidly from side to side, but she looks like she doesn't have much fight left in her. Considering her emaciated form, it's amazing she was able to hold up against a formidable band of Victors for as long as she did.

Finally Haymitch gives in with a huff. "You better not make me regret this, Sweetheart."

A few tense moments and an impressive string of obscenities later, Haymitch has managed to wrestle the feral-looking girl over to the nearest tree. I bind her securely, but I'm still as gentle as possible. I don't know if I'm trying to compensate for the absence of Peeta's goodness or what, but for some reason I feel like standing up for this demented waif is the right thing to do. It's like I told Haymitch—this girl doesn't look like an enemy, she looks like a victim. And aren't _we_ all victims, too? Haven't _we _all been on the brink of madness at least once since the Games? I don't think destroying another victim is going to get us any closer to rescuing Peeta from whatever evil is lurking in those distant mountains.

Gale and Johanna refuse to lay down their weapons, but they look a little more relaxed now that the girl has been bound.

"I'm still not sure she's not a Mutt, Katniss," says Gale suspiciously.

"Same here," agrees Johanna, lowering her axe a bit but not returning it to its place in her belt. "What's with you anyway Mockingjay? It's like you've suddenly entered yourself in the race for Miss Congeniality."

I choose to ignore Johanna even though I know she's right. I _am_ acting strange. "She's not a Mutt, Gale," I whisper, almost as if I'm saying it just to reassure myself. "You can see it in her eyes. She's _scared." _

"I'm with Katniss," says Beetee, speaking for the first time. "A Mutt attack isn't really in line with the types of traps we've faced today—those were all mind games—things to throw us off our course. It doesn't seem like it's the Lords' style to send in a murderous Mutt, especially not one as small as this. It's obvious that anyone who's made it this far into the wilderness could overpower her."

I shoot Beetee a look of gratitude because I know the others will have a harder time arguing against his hyper-rationalism. Then, keeping my eyes down in case she takes my stare as a threat, I approach the girl slowly as I would approach a startled doe in the woods. Her low growl continues, but I manage to make it a few paces without any major reaction. A twig snaps and she gives a violent hiss. "Shhh," I murmur. "I'm not going to hurt you." She makes no reaction to my words and I almost wonder if she can even understand English. I keep talking to her in a soothing voice anyhow. "My name is Katniss. I'd like to be your friend. Can you tell me your name?"

No response.

"Ok, no name. That's all right. Where do you come from?"

She just snaps her teeth at my outstretched hand.

"Well this is working _brilliantly," _says Haymitch sarcastically. "I think I saw a couple of squirrels over there, you want to try chatting with them, too? We could make it a nice round table discussion."

I roll my eyes and straighten up wearily. "Look, I'll take full responsibility for her, ok? You don't have to lift a finger."

"Wasn't going to," he retorts.

I seem to be winning Gale over though because he's shifting his weight from his left to his right foot like he always does when he's trying to make a decision. "She's clearly been out here a long time—the girl, I mean—so she might know something. Don't you think? Johanna? Haymitch?"

Johanna shrugs. "I guess so. But she might slow us down if we take her with us."

That thought gives me pause. My loyalty lies with Peeta, and the longer it takes for us to reach the stronghold, the more our chances of finding him physically and mentally intact dwindle. I know we can't let the girl go due to the risk that she'll throttle us in our sleep, but I can't bring myself to even consider the possibility of executing her. I've already killed too many children in my life.

"That's a risk we'll have to take," I say, squaring my jaw and glaring at the others as if daring them to challenge me again.

"Alright," says Johanna throwing up her hands in defeat. "Your call."

We throw together a quick lunch of squirrel meat and wild mushroom kebabs. When I offer one of the skewers to the girl she sniffs at it suspiciously scowling up at me with obvious distrust. I tear off a piece of meat with my teeth to show her we haven't poisoned it and offer the stick to her again. She watches me chew and swallow with a greedy expression on her face and I know she won't be able to resist the food—she's wearing the same look of hungry desperation that I used to see in my reflection as a child. She would probably eat just about anything at this point, just like me and my family did: rats, boiled pine needles, grasshoppers—whatever. As soon as the girl has verified that I haven't dropped dead on the spot, she yanks the skewer out of my hand and inhales the food, juice from the meat dripping down her sharp chin. I feed her three more servings before she finally slows down. Haymitch is watching, disgusted, as she licks the last morsels of squirrel off her filthy fingers.

"_That_ is the most revolting thing I have ever seen," he says with his mouth full, bits of partially masticated mushroom flying from his lips as he speaks.

Gale snorts. "Look who's talking."

I catch Gale's eye and we smirk at each other. I suddenly realize how glad I am that he is here. It feels almost like the old days when we always had each other's backs.

After lunch we pack up our camp, careful to erase all traces of ourselves now that we are moving deeper into enemy territory. The map, peppered with pulsing red dots that signify terrorist cells, reminds me that the Lord's of Light are not the only ones we have to worry about in these woods.

I have to wrap my hands up in a double layer of athletic socks because the girl keeps trying to bite me, but with Gale's help I eventually manage to bind her in an a sort of rope harness with a short leash, which will allow me to lead her through the forest with us. The meat seems to have pacified her a bit and she seems content enough to amble along in front of me. Occasionally she will spaz out momentarily—hissing and clawing at something only she can see—but other than that, we don't have any problems with her for the next two days. She seems almost indefatigable, and despite the fact that she still looks severely malnourished, she treks all day long with ease and little complaint.

* * *

At sunset on the third day since we found the girl, we stop by the edge of a shallow stream to make camp. The girl is remarkably docile at this point and is even humming a bit to herself as she draws in the dirt with a stick. We all exchange looks and shrug.

"What do you think it is that she's drawing?" asks Gale.

"I don't know, it just looks like a bunch of lines to me," I say.

Beetee peers at the girl's scratchings through his glasses, which have slipped to the end of his nose. "Looks kind of like a tower of some sort. Look at this point on the top. Hmm. It's odd, that's for sure."

I deposit the girl near the streambed so I can keep an eye on her while Gale and I try to put our fishhooks to use again. Unfortunately, we're not having much luck this time. Gale swears as a fish swims off with his bait unscathed. I look behind me to see what the girl is doing and I blanche when I see she that she has disappeared.

"Hey!" I call anxiously, realizing I still have no idea what to call the girl, "Hey, where are you? Gale, she's gone!"

But a second later I hear a splash a few paces down stream and there she is! Miraculously, she's got a silvery fish flopping in her hand and wide self-satisfied smile across her face.

"Hey there kiddo, how did you do that?"

She just grins. I make a move towards her, but apparently the sudden motion frightens her because she hisses and hunches over in a defensive position.

"Shh, sorry. Easy there," I say gently, stepping back. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just impressed that you caught a fish, that's all. What a good girl you are!"

I feel silly, like I'm talking to a small child or a puppy, but it seems to soothe her. I see the muscles in her face relax and she holds up the fish proudly.

"Yes, a fish," I nod encouragingly. "Great job!"

Gale has tiptoed up next to me, careful not to make any sudden movements. "Well, what do you know?" he breathes with a little laugh. "You were right, Katniss. The kid might come in handy after all!"

The girl looks at Gale suspiciously, but she takes a few tentative steps toward me and shoves the fish into my hands.

"For me?" I ask, gesturing to myself. She nods vigorously and points at my chest. It's not much, but this is the first time we've had any kind of human non-verbal exchange, and I think it signals progress. Maybe with time she'll be able to tell us something useful about the Lord's of Lights' stronghold. Maybe…and I know all of us are wondering the same thing…maybe she escaped from there herself. If so, then this batty half-woman half-child could be our biggest asset. And speaking of assets…I hear another splash and find that the girl has captured a second fish with her bare hands.

Even Haymitch is in good spirits that night as we fry up an impressive number of fish. I've retreated a bit from the group around the fire, feeling as though I need some solitary time, but I can see Haymitch entertaining the others with what looks like an uproarious tale—no doubt about one of his drunken escapades. Gale spent the last hour or so splashing around in the stream trying to replicate the girls' fishing technique while she rolled around on the bank shaking with silent laughter. When they came back to the campsite both soaking wet it was clear that the girl had warmed to Gale because she had proudly bestowed all her fish upon him so that he could save face.

I try not to think about Peeta languishing in a cell somewhere and instead try to picture him kneading dough in the back of his new bakery, the smell of steaming pastries filling the air, the paint still fresh on the grand opening sign: "Mellark Family Bakery." I try to imagine surprising him there after a long day of work. I see his eyes light up at the sight of me and that special smile he reserves just for me break out across his face. He has a smudge of flour above his right eyebrow and on his chin. I step into his strong embrace and kiss the flour away gently, eventually finding his lips with mine, marveling at how we fit together like pieces of the same broken heart. He smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and…_fish? _I shake myself out of my daydream and notice that the girl is inching a tin plate of fish towards me. She looks tentative as if she's afraid she'll startle me. Can she tell I'm broken? I wonder. Does she recognize the madness that threatens to envelope me every day that we fail to find Peeta?

"Thanks," I say softly. I notice that the girl has long dark eyelashes and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, which is short and narrow. "Come here," I say to her, patting the log beside me. "Come on, don't be afraid." She creeps up slowly and eases herself down onto the moss-covered bark. "What's your name?" I try again.

Silence.

I sigh wearily. "Alright, that's ok. I like you anyway, even if you don't want to talk. I don't really like to talk that much either."

I think about sitting in silence with Madge during lunch at school and then about Peeta sitting behind me in history all those years, just waiting for me to say something. He once confessed that he had this fantasy in eighth grade where I would drop my pencil and he would swoop down and pick it up for me. I would take it and say, "Thank you, Peeta." _That's it?_ I remember asking incredulously and bursting into laughter. He just shrugged sheepishly. _That was your adolescent fantasy about me? I seem to remember everyone teasing__** me**__ for being pure—good thing they never found out about you, or we'd have never lived it down! _Then Peeta had puffed himself up in mock indignation, _I was a respectful young man! But…_he had said suggestively, _there were some other fantasies too…and now that you're my wife…_ Peeta had scooped me up laughing and tossed me down on the mattress eagerly, his pupils dilated.

I sigh again, feeling my spirit slowly deflating. The girl has scooted closer to me on the log. Despite her madness, she seems eerily in tune to human emotion. She reaches out a small, bony hand and I'm almost afraid she'll start clawing at me again, but instead, she places it gently over my heart. Then she looks up into my eyes and I see pain swirling around in those deep black pools. She's trying to communicate something both sorrowful and profound, something that probably couldn't be described in words even if she were capable of doing so. The girl increases the pressure of her palm against my beating heart and then removes it and places it across her own. She does this again, twice. Her eyes are begging me to understand. And I do. A single tear runs unnoticed down my cheek.

* * *

Gale is up first the next morning, apparently reinvigorated by the hearty meal last night. "Rise and shine everyone! Come on, we've got a long march today. Johanna, Haymitch, Beetee! Up!"

I find myself stirring sleepily at the sound of his voice. Something hard is pressing into the side of my cheek and I realize I must have fallen asleep right on the forest floor. The girl is curled up beside me, looking a little like Buttercup with her mane of matted hair. Gale comes over and squats down beside me.

"You finally slept," he says, smiling. I push myself up into a seated position and rub my eyes.

"You're right, I did," I say with some surprise. I can't remember the last time I've had a good night's sleep.

"Well, I'm glad. I was getting worried about you." Gale shakes the girl's shoulder gently. "Come on, Fish. Time to go!"

"Fish?" I ask, bemused.

"Yeah," says Gale, shrugging. "We can't just keep calling her 'The Girl', you know? So I've christened her 'Fish'. Fitting, don't you think?"

Well, it doesn't really matter what I think, because the girl—_Fish—_seems to love it. She springs to her feet immediately and gives Gale a grin.

"Aww, that's precious, Hawthorne," comes Johanna's sarcastic voice from across the way. "Looks like you've gone soft on the little monster."

Fish lets out a low growl, but Gale assures her that, for Johanna, "little monster" is basically a term of endearment.

* * *

I can't help but feel smug about about the efficacy of my decision to bring Fish along. She seems to know this wilderness well and we soon let her take the lead since the terrain is getting more unpredictable and she seems adept at finding the best spots to scramble down rocky ledges or to cross over swirling rapids. We took her off the leash after that day Gale named her "Fish," convinced that she's no longer a threat to us, and now she bounds ahead of us like some kind of overgrown puppy dog. She seems like she's basking in the attention of having people around her again, and it makes me wonder how long she's been out here alone. I'm sure to give her lots of praise when she helps us out of particularly sticky situations-like this morning for example.

We were marching along through a sparse glade of birch trees when she had halted so suddenly that I slammed right into Beetee's back.

"What's up, Fish?" I asked, rubbing my nose. Her whole body was tense and I was afraid she was having some sort of attack, but then she turned around to face us with a very serious expression on her face. She picked up a stone from the ground, gave us a meaningful look that seemed to say, "watch very carefully," and turned back around. Fish tossed the stone a couple feet ahead of us and we were amazed to see that the stone never hit the ground. Instead, with a _whoosh _it shot straight up into the air like a rocket. I had followed it with my gaze, shielding my eyes against the sun with my hand, but it had disappeared somewhere above the forest canopy.

"What in Panem was that?" gasped Johanna, craning her neck up at the sky.

Fish was tugging on my sleeve urgently, trying to get my attention, so I called to the others to focus on whatever Fish wanted to tell us. She pointed down at the forest floor in front of us and then at herself. Then she made an emphatic gesture that could only mean "you stay here!" She took deep a breath and poised herself like a diver on the edge of plank, her fingers twitching in anticipation. I stifled a cry as she hopped forward to the left, landing on a large, flat rock. Nothing happened, so I let out a sigh of relief. Next, she took a long leap to the right into a patch of clovers. From there she sidestepped left one pace and then took two big jumps forward. Then she turned around to face us raising her arms triumphantly in the air as if to say, "Ta da!"

"Erm, ok," I said, stepping up to the plate. "I'll go next."

But Johanna pushed me out of the way. "No way, Brainless. You'll get blown sky high for sure. Watch me and then you can go." Since there's never any point trying to argue with Johanna, I stepped aside. I wasn't positive, but I was pretty sure Johanna was thinking about Peeta when she decided to take that risk for me.

* * *

After a while everyone is in agreement that Fish is invaluable to our operation. She's better than any map because she knows about all the deterrents that the Lord's have set up, which are becoming increasingly perilous as we go along. That ploy with the compass seems like a cute little magic trick now compared with the meadow we skirted around this morning that shot up metal spikes at the slightest application of pressure. Fish is also a skilled hunter and scavenger and has killer instincts. It's almost like she senses the presence of danger rather than sees it or hears it. Today as we were passing closely between two of the terrorist cells noted on our map, she pulled us into the shadows several times to avoid being spotted by burly, machine gun-wielding ruffians.

Tonight when we stop to make camp I try to make Fish look a little more human by trimming her nails with my pocketknife and attempting to untangle her hair with a forked stick. I hadn't bothered to bring a brush.

"Hey, anyone have a comb?" I call, after the third stick breaks off her matted locks. There are some general murmurs of dissent, but eventually Haymitch reluctantly extracts a comb from his back pocket and hands it to me.

"Well, well, well," says Johanna with a smirk. "I never would have pegged you for a dandy, Haymitch." Gale and her erupt into laughter as Haymitch mutters obscenities under his breath, his ears a dark shade of red.

I'm not very good with hair. That was always my mother's job. Somehow even in her most catatonic state braiding Prim's hair was the one thing she managed to do consistently. It used to make me livid seeing her drag herself out of bed to do something as silly as braiding our hair when I was forced to risk my neck poaching in the forest to put food on the table. Couldn't she do anything _useful? _But I realize now, after enduring so much trauma myself, that those small, menial tasks are often the only things you can force yourself to do when the blackness overwhelms you. In those silly braids my mother was attempting to convey so much more than it seemed at the time. I shake my head, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, and eventually I manage to form two lumpy braids down Fish's back ("Don't quit your day job," quips Johanna).

The sun is just beginning to set and Gale, Beetee and Johanna are talking strategy around the fire. I'm trying my best to pay attention, but it's hard because I'm feeling so warm and sleepy. Haymitch is in one of the tents nursing a headache brought on by his forced abstinence from alcohol, and Fish has curled up at my feet. I'm stroking her hair absently, finding her presence oddly comforting. With a pang I realize that she's probably around the same age as Prim would be if she were still alive.

"I say the tunnels are still our best bet. Don't you think so, Gale? The Lord's might not even know that they exist," says Beetee.

Gale rubs his temples. "I know, I know. It's just…I don't like the idea of us being trapped underground if something goes wrong. We'd be vulnerable down there. You can't escape easily from a mine…"

I start to reach over to squeeze Gale's hand—I know he's thinking about the explosion that killed both of our fathers—but Johanna beats me to it. I'm not used to seeing her make tender gestures, since most of the time she's prickly like me, so I look between the two of them with some surprise. Is there something going on there? Something romantic? I'm not quite sure how I feel about it. My first thought is that they would tear each other to shreds with their equally dominant, stubborn personalities, but my second thought is the only Johanna could go head to head with Gale and come out a winner. Maybe she would be good for him. Gale has always liked a challenge and he seems to feed off volatile situations. I try not to look at their entwined hands because I feel like I'm interrupting something intensely private.

"Well, I think we should let Katniss decide," puts in Beetee. "This is Katniss' mission. She's the pilot here."

Suddenly everyone's eyes are on me. "You want _me _to make the decision," I say in disbelief. "Haven't you been listening to Haymitch at all? I'm terrible with making plans. I just…react! And think later."

"Well," prods Johanna. "A reaction is all we're really looking for here. Do we go through the mines, which may help us avoid detection but may make it difficult to escape an attack, or do we go in from the outside, which will decrease our stealth advantage, but make it easier for us to high-tail it out of there?"

When the situation is laid out like that I realize that it's hardly even a choice. Fleeing is not an option for me. I'm breaking Peeta out of that stronghold or I'm going to die trying.

"The mines it is then," I say grimly. I look over at Gale and he nods once to show his support. I try to push the memory of my last desperate mission in the Capitol out of my head. How many of my followers did I lead to their death in my vendetta against Snow? No, I can't think like this. I can't afford to dwell on the past or I will lose my nerve completely. _This is for Peeta, _I tell myself firmly, and it makes me feel a little better.

Beetee claps his hands. "Well, now that that's settled, we move on to the next problem at hand. We still don't really know where we're going."

"Do you think Fish knows?" asks Johanna, nodding in her direction. "She's been dead on about all the deterrents."

"It's hard to say for sure," replies Beetee, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "She could have figured out those deterrents on her own, just by living for so long in these woods. I'm leaning towards the idea that she escaped from one of the other encampments around here."

"I'm not so sure, Beetee," I say. "I feel like she knows where we're going somehow..." I trail off because I realize how silly it sounds to be basing our course of action on a _feeling _I have.

But Gale agrees with me. "No, you're right Katniss. You know how we were speculating before we left about why they might have taken Peeta? How we thought it might have something to do with his hijacking? Well, how do you think Fish got so messed up, huh? I feel like it might have taken more than just a few years alone in the forest to make her like this. What if they were…you know, experimenting on her. Meddling around in her head…". Gale shoots me an apologetic look, knowing that this line of speculation is going to drive me crazy with worry over Peeta. But his words don't take me by surprise. I've been thinking the same thing for quite some time now.

I look down at Fish who is drawing that same angular design in the dirt again. She looks so peaceful, but I'm sure she's just a shadow of who she once was. Oh Fish, I sigh. What happened to you?

"It's ok, Gale. We all know they're probably messing around in Peeta's brain again. There's no point trying to pretend it's not happening." I try to sound composed, even though inside I feel like I'm falling apart.

Fish is still scratching at the earth intently with her stick. Why does she always draw the same thing?

And then suddenly it hits me.

"Hey, Beetee," I say urgently, my eyes riveted to the ground. "You said you thought this drawing looked like a tower, right?…Could it be a… _radio_ tower?"

The scratching sound stops and Fish's head snaps up. Her body is tense and ready like she's a lynx that's just caught a whiff of prey. I start digging around in my pack frantically until I feel my fingers close around something hard and smooth and I draw out the radio with a flourish. Fish's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets at the sight of it and she starts moaning and pawing at my legs, begging me to hand it over to her. She's rocking back and forth on her haunches in a frenzy and I can see her lips contorting weirdly as if she's trying to form a word but can't quite remember how.

"Rrrradio!" she finally croaks. "Rrrrradio!"

The sound is mangled, but there is no doubt that Fish has choked out her first word. _Radio. _I glance around quickly at the stunned faces of my companions—even Haymitch has stumbled out to see what the ruckus is about—and I make an executive decision. I slap the radio into Fish's grasping hands and lean back as she streaks past me towards the tallest pine in the clearing and starts shimmying up.

"What is she_ doing_?" wonders Gale aloud. His mouth is hanging open in amazement.

"Going to the highest point she can find to get a better signal!" says Beetee, sounding impressed. "Mad or not, she still seems pretty smart to me."

"I didn't even think it was possible to climb that fast," murmurs Johanna, her eyes following Fish's progress up the tree.

"This is what she was after all along!" I shout excitedly. "Remember, Beetee? That first night she wasn't really trying to attack you at all, she just wanted the radio!"

It's hard to see in the fading light, but I can just make out Fish's figure as she nears the top of the tree, which is swaying dangerously under her weight. Thank goodness she is so tiny or I feel certain that she would have come crashing down by now. We all wait with bated breath for what seems like forever, and finally, when the last rays of sunlight have nearly vanished into the inky black night, we see Fish descend from the tree. She leaps off a branch at a considerable height, lands cat-like on her feet and scurries over to the campfire with a flushed, excited face.

Fish jabs her finger at a button on the radio. She has recorded a broadcast. We hear a crackle and then the clear, calm voice of a man begins to speak.

"All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring,

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king."

The radio crackles again and goes silent. Everyone stands still and quiet for so long that I can hear my heart beating.

Finally Beetee speaks up. "This message is for me," he says softly, and five pairs of eyes stare at him in wonder. "Remember how I said I knew someone who'd been taken, Katniss? Well, it was my brother. Dex. And I know this message is from him—it's a… poem from our favorite book. We made a pact back then that if one of us was taken we'd never stop looking for him for the rest of our lives…"

Haymitch and Johanna don't look very surprised, so I'm assuming they already knew, but I can tell Gale is just as floored by Beetee's announcement as I am. _ His brother. _No wonder Beetee has been so on edge. No wonder he offered to head up this foolhardy, life-threatening mission.

Johanna, who has never been one to beat about the bush, leaves about thirty seconds for Beetee's words to sink and then asks pointblank, "So… do you know what it means?"

Beetee takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "No," he says simply, and when he puts his glasses back on I see his eyes blazing with newfound determination. "But I will soon."


	9. The Signal

"Well Peeta, I must admit that I don't quite know where to begin." Dex is standing in front of the semi-circle of rebels, his hands clasped behind his back as if he's a professor about to give a lecture. "The story of our resistance movement is older than I am…"

As Dex speaks I can feel my jaw dropping farther and farther at each new discovery. It always seemed to me like the rebellion against the Capitol just happened suddenly. Like Katniss just pulled out those berries and bam! The districts were all in upheaval. But of course Katniss and I came in on the tail end of things, we didn't witness the slow, unbelievably delicate process of building a revolution. Surely seeds of the rebellion had been sown long ago, even as long ago as that first Hunger Games, because what sort of decent human being could watch children hack each other to death without wanting to destroy whatever sadistic force was condoning such torture? Katniss didn't _start_ the rebellion, she just triggered it, gave the hardened, long-suffering District citizens an impetus, an _inspiration, _to throw their plans into action.

I listen as Dex explains how things were when he first got here. They didn't have the tracker jacker-morphling cocktail developed back then—it was just a theory. Instead the Lord's were forced to resort to more rudimentary, traditional forms of torture to control their captives, and I can tell that these are memories that Dex, Sarai, and Clef would rather not relive. Being a victim of torture myself, I don't blame them. Of course, my agony was mostly mental (arguably more horrendous than anything they could have done to me physically), but I can still hear Johanna's screams echoing in my dreams. I know they were using some ancient form of torture on her that had to do with water. A lump rises in my throat as I think of Johanna and then Katniss again-because it always comes back to her, doesn't it?—and I pray that they have not decided to come after me on some sort of crazy suicide mission. My two girls—both tough as nails, both steeped in sorrow and loss—they're the kind of girls that could eat a softie like me for breakfast, but they're mine nonetheless. They are my family.

When the Lord's began delving into mind control Sarai was just a teenager, but she was on the team that was commissioned to work on tracker-jacker venom (all they had was some inchoate data hacked from Capitol computers back then). She had guessed what they were going to use it for right away, so she started secretly developing the antidote alongside the noxious serum—Jackerling, they called it—that would soon transform a veritable army of scientists into drones.

"At first I could only produce small amounts of the antidote," explains Sarai. "I had to do everything in secret—"

"And don't let Sarai play down how difficult that was. The Enforcers were a lot tougher then, had to be since they didn't have us all jacked up yet, and Sarai made the antidote at a great risk to herself. She's too modest." Dex strokes her cheek fondly and plants a kiss right on her lips. Sarai flushes.

"Deeex," she chides, looking embarrassed, but secretly pleased. "Not in front of the kids!"

Wrench makes theatrical gagging noises.

"Anyway," continues Sarai, trying to regain her composure. "I managed to figure out the antidote in the end—Dex and Clef helped out by causing distractions when I needed access to an ingredient or to a piece of lab equipment that wasn't readily available. Dex would cause the lights to short-circuit and blame it on whatever gadget he was working on or Clef would pick a fight with one of the other captives."

"And you would think I would win, wouldn't you?" says Clef, gesturing to his large, powerful-looking physique. "But fighting's not really my thing."

Sarai clucks like a mother hen. "The poor dear, I don't know how many broken noses I attended to over the years—was it four, five?

"Seven!" cries Clef in mock despair, letting out a booming, contagious laugh. It feels good to laugh a little, but unfamiliar.

"But seriously," says Sarai, sobering herself. "At the beginning we could only make very small amounts. Dex, Clef and I had the antidote from day one so we stayed lucid, but the others, and there were already quite a lot of them by them, had no chance."

Clef takes over. "Then one day someone woke Dex and I up in the middle of the night. We thought we were dead, that the Enforcers had found us out, but the man just hissed at us to be quiet and led us out of the boy's dormitory."

"The man wasn't wearing a lab coat like the other Enforcers," says Dex. "He was wearing a three-piece suit and he had a monocle. I think we had already disappeared down a series of twisting corridors before either of us realized he was a Founder. I couldn't believe it!"

"And then he took us here. To the Aerie." Clef stretches out his arms and I gaze around again at the magnificent chamber. "Franz—that's the Founder's name—he and his wife Rosalind had been watching us carefully, said they knew we'd found a way to fight the Jackerling, so they decided to take a chance and let us in on their secret. They didn't like the direction the Lords were headed in, thought it was barbaric. They were in this for the science, wanted no part in kidnapping and torture—that sort of thing was for the Capitol they said."

"I have deep respect for those two, God rest their souls," says Sarai sadly.

"What…what happened to them?" I ask hesitantly, already suspecting the answer.

Dex sighs. "They died. Murdered, obviously. Rosalind said that the Lords were planning on making a big shift in policy, that they were going to start kidnapping _more_ kids, and younger ones at that. And of course, at that point, their new focus was going to be Mind Meddling. Things were going to get a lot worse around here." Dex looks around the room darkly and I can see that things did indeed get worse. Jetta and Wrench both look grim and Sam and Aero are actually shaking a little. I certainly haven't had an easy life, but seeing these stony faces makes me wonder how much worse it could have been if I had been snatched from my bed as a boy and raised in a forced labor camp.

"Franz and Rosalind told us they were going to make a stand, and they told us that if anything happened to them we had to carry on, to not let their sacrifice have been in vain… The next day they were both dead."

A long, reverent silence fills the room and I see a single tear run down Sarai's chocolate cheek.

After a few minutes, Dex breaks the silence by suggesting that I tell them about what's been going on in the outside world. Apparently since the fall of the Capitol and the end of the Hunger Games, the Lords have cut off all broadcasts from the outside world. They had been using the Capitol's cruelty as a sort of bargaining chip, a way of making the captives feel as if they had been rescued rather than abducted, but now that Paylor's fledgling democracy is in place, the Lords are afraid to reveal anything going on in the Districts. The rebels all stare at me raptly as I speak, hanging on to my every word and asking loads of questions. I suppose if you had been holed up in a mountain your whole life even mundane news from the outside would seem fantastic. Jetta asks me over and over again to describe the forest surrounding District 12 and Sarai is entranced by my ramblings about bread and pastry recipes. But most importantly, they are overjoyed to hear that the Capitol has fallen.

"It gives you hope that if we ever _do_ bust out of here things will actually be better on the outside, you know?" comments Sam.

Before I leave that night Dex slips me an ordinary looking button. "Keep this in your pocket Peeta, it will vibrate when the coast is clear for us to have our next meeting. We usually plant little disasters for the Enforcers to clean up before we gather so that it's less likely they'll notice our absence. In the meantime, try to keep your head up. I know that what they're putting you through in your sessions must be horrible, but you have to stay strong. I think it will be safe for you to consort with Wrench outside the Aerie—you're around the same age, it won't seem odd if the Enforcers see you two together and that should help you stave off some of the loneliness. Sound good?"

It does sound good. Having someone to talk to will distract me in the aftermath of my sessions, which are becoming increasingly difficult to bear. The first day when they put me through the simulation I was in full control of my faculties and it was bad enough, but now they have started injecting me with small amounts of tracker-jacker venom beforehand. Every day I have to work a little harder to fight off the fear and doubt in the simulation and every day it's becoming a little harder to remember what is real and what is not real. But I can't let myself be broken again. I can't let them make me into a lethal weapon against the woman I love for a second time.

* * *

I still spend my afternoons wandering around the complex aimlessly, but now that I have Wrench as an occasional companion, it is a bit easier to endure. His easy-going manner and sense of humor reminds me of my oldest brother Macon, and I immediately feel comfortable with him. We spend most of our time plotting and carrying out various pranks, since Wrench seems to regard an afternoon spent without causing mischief as a complete waste of time. Today we have ventured down to the education wing where the young recruits attend classes. Peeking in through an open door I can see neat rows of what must be the most overachieving students known to mankind. They are all staring at the blackboard, seemingly engrossed by the complicated physics problem that the professor is scribbling out in chalk. Wrench told me that some of the students are Lucid because they've been taking the antidote since their inception, but unfortunately the rebels could only choose to enlighten the most mature children since the risk of discovery is so great.

All the rooms are outfitted with natural light simulators like the ones in the workshop (today it is drizzling gently outside), and they are the target of today's prank. Wrench managed to lift one of the remote controls off an unsuspecting Blank and he has uploaded it with some footage of an overweight Enforcer bent over the refrigerator, digging out a chocolate cake, while humming the Panem national anthem with great gusto. Wrench gives me a smirk and presses the button as we pass a class of fourth graders. We try to arrange our faces into blank, glassy eyed stares as the sound of uproariously laughter follows us down the hall. Just before we turn the corner Wrench deftly slips the remote into the pocket of an Enforcer with a bad toupee. We sprint down the empty corridor and duck into a deep window well before erupting into a hysterical bout of laughter that we can't stifle for a long while.

I'm still guffawing a bit, amazed at how good it feels to laugh again, when Wrench turns to me with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. "Hey, can I ask you something, man?" he says.

"Sure, anything," I reply, training my eyes on him. He's fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt and looking terribly uncomfortable.

"Well, er…I was just wondering…um… when did you know you were in love with Katniss?" He finally spits out.

It's not the question I was expecting, so it takes me a moment to respond, and when I do it's with a little laugh. "The easier question to ask, Wrench, is when did I _not _know I was in love with Katniss. I've been in love with that girl since before I could tie my own shoes. I was just five years old when I heard her sing the Valley Song at a school assembly and after that I was never the same."

"Oh," he says hollowly, looking down at his feet and pulling at his shirtsleeve again. "Ok, I was just wondering…"

When I see his face drop I backpedal rapidly. "But it's not that way for everyone though. My friend Finnick—you're probably too young to really remember him from the Games—he always used to say that his girl Annie crept up on him. To be honest, I think it was that way for Katniss, too. It took her a long time to realize what love looked like."

Wrench looks up hopefully and he seems to feel relieved somehow by my words. I want to ask him what he's thinking about right now, but it doesn't really seem like a topic he wants to breach, so I decide to pocket this conversation for later when I've gotten to know him better.

* * *

The next day after dinner I feel a faint buzzing in my left pocket, and after checking that the coast is clear, I nearly sprint to the Aerie in my eagerness to see my new friends again. I punch in the code behind the tapestry like Jetta did and this time I don't hesitate to slip through the Mirage-Block and into the mineshaft. A minute latter, when I arrive in the Aerie feeling windswept from the breakneck ride in the coal car, I notice that Jetta is the only one there so far. She's sitting on a sofa in the corner with her face turned away and the slight heaving of her shoulders lets me know that she is trying to stave off tears.

"Hey, Jetta," I say quietly, sinking down into the armchair next to her. "You ok?"

She looks up slowly and I notice her eyes are red and puffy from crying. She sniffs and nods her head unconvincingly.

"It's ok if you're not. I'm not feeling so great these days either," I say, giving her a half smile. I pause a little here, wondering if I should ask her about what happened the other day in the cafeteria or just let it be. She just met me after all, maybe she doesn't feel like spilling her guts right away. I decide on a middle of the road response. "You kind of remind me of Katniss, you know?" I see her eyes widen, but I continue. "She really loved her sister, too. Would've done anything for that little girl."

Jetta just stares at me for a moment with an odd expression on her face, then I see her bottom lip begin to tremble and she suddenly bursts into tears. This was certainly not the reaction I was going for.

"I'm not anything like Katniss at all!" she wails, covering her face with her hands. "She's so brave!"

"Shh, Jetta, calm down. I didn't mean to upset you!"

Jetta is basically hysterical at this point. Big fat tears are rolling down her face and she is pulling at her hair. Fortunately I'm not one of those men who are completely incapacitated when women cry, so I go over to sit on the couch with her and rub comforting circles on her back. I don't say much, just let her cry herself out. After a few minutes Jetta takes a deep, steadying breath and looks over at me, obviously embarrassed.

"God, I'm sorry about that, Peeta," she says, laughing awkwardly and carefully avoiding my eyes. "What a terrible introduction."

"I've had worse, believe me," I say, smiling at her. "The first time I met my mentor Haymitch he fell off the stage drunk."

She smiles at that and finally looks up from her lap. "You're a good person Peeta," she says unexpectedly. I run a hand through my hair awkwardly. "I mean, at first when we watched you on TV we all kind of thought that wide-eyed, friendly persona you had going on was a ploy. I can see it's not though. You're actually as nice as you were on TV."

I'm feeling bashful now—I've always been uncomfortable with praise—so I try to deflect my embarrassment with humor, "I'm slimmer than on TV though, right? I've heard the camera adds five pounds."

Jetta laughs. "Hey, thanks for making me feel better."

"Anytime," I say, and I mean it. I've decided that I like Jetta. She's got a good heart. We sit in silence for a few moments and I'm about ready to go over and inspect the supercomputer across the room when she surprises me by speaking again.

"You know it was Katniss that motivated me to try to be strong for Jilly—that's my little sister. The way she just ran forward and volunteered like that? Amazing. Jilly had just been abducted when we were watching those Games. She got here two years after me, and she was _so young_ Peeta—just seven years old! It was my worst nightmare come true when I saw the Enforcers marching her through the doors to the cafeteria for her "vitamins." Dex gave her the pills right away but, but—" her voice cracks, "she was allergic to them or something. Had a terrible reaction. Her throat had nearly closed up before they got her to the hospital wing. I begged Sarai to do something, to come up with a different antidote, but there was nothing she could do. Jilly went blank just like all the rest of them."

Jetta's shaking a little bit now and I almost suggest that she stop, but it seems like she needs to get the story out. She draws in a deep breath and continues. " That was a terrible time for me. I couldn't concentrate on anything and I got sent to the Dark Room so many times for being inattentive in the workshop—"

"Sorry, the Dark Room?" I interrupt before I can stop myself.

She shudders. "Yeah. You never want to get sent there, Peeta. They make you live out your deepest fears." She doesn't elaborate, but considering the simulations I've been undergoing for the past few days, I think I have a pretty good idea of what the Dark Room is like.

"Anyway, I told everybody that I wanted to go off the antidote if my sister couldn't have it. I couldn't stand to see her slipping away! But Sarai told me that it was selfish to think that way, that going off the pill would be the coward's way out. She told me to think about Katniss. _What would Katniss do?_ she told me to ask myself. And I knew the answer right away: Katniss would find a way to help Prim. I couldn't help Jilly if I was doped up on that mind-meddling venom. But it gets worse."

"Worse?" I ask, dreading the response.

"Worse," she confirms. "It didn't take them long to figure out that Jilly didn't have exceptional talent in engineering, or microbiology, or mathematics, or any of the domains favored by the Lord's of Light for that matter. Poor Jilly just has a way with words—takes after our father. Well, the Lord's couldn't see much use in that, so they sent her off to the Mental Advancement Department."

"Mental Advancement Department," I repeat. "M.A.D?"

"Yeah, that's right, M.A.D. No doubt those bastards find the acronym hilarious." Jetta's eyes are blazing. "None of us really know what goes on in there, but it must be really important, because the Enforcers keep a strict watch on them."

"I know," I say, thinking of the hawk-eyed woman who stopped me from talking to Jilly.

"Jilly went downhill fast. I haven't even heard her speak for years. What was she saying to you in the cafeteria?"

"Red mist."

"Red mist?" she asks, as if unsure whether she's heard me correctly.

"Red mist," I repeat, fully aware of how odd that sounds. "That's all she would say."

Jetta scratches her head looking bewildered. "Well, I have no clue what that means, but at least it was something, right? She must still be in there somewhere, don't you think?" Her voice is pleading.

"I dunno Jetta, I sure hope so."

After a long pause, Jetta changes the subject. "You must really miss Katniss, huh?"

For once I can't seem to put what I feel into words. Katniss' face dances before me in my head and I see her sitting on our front porch skinning a rabbit at sunset. The wisps of hair that have escaped her signature braid during the hunt frame her small, angular face and when the last rays of peach colored light shine through, it looks as though she is wearing a halo. Her expression, so often piercing and suspicious, is softened at the moment, but the swift, sure movements she is making with her hands speak of strength. My heart aches. _Do I really miss Katniss?_ That is the understatement of the century. The only way I can even begin to describe the pain I'm feeling is this: I can remember the Capitol doctors telling me about a thing called "Phantom Limb Syndrome" after I lost my leg in the first Games. They said that due to false signals transmitted by the nervous system, people who have lost appendages often continue to feel pain in the missing limb long after it is physically gone. That's how I feel about Katniss—like the best part of myself has gone missing and all I can feel in its absence is pain.

"Yeah, Jetta," I say finally. "I miss her more than anything."

Jetta and I eventually move on to less heavy topics of conversation as the other rebels begin to file in. We have a short debriefing meeting and then everyone retreats to different corners of the chamber to work on their individual projects.

Since I have no technical skills to speak of I decide to learn as much by observation as I can. I'm wandering around the edge of the Aerie gazing in fascination at the many whirring machines and super computers, when something catches my eye.

"Hey Dex?" I say casually, looking at the words flashing red on the screen: Incoming signal. "Does this mean something to you?"

Dex turns around from the complicated device he's tinkering with, distracted. "Huh? What?"

"I don't know, the screen. It says 'incoming signal—'"

The words are barely out of my mouth when Dex is by my side, tipping his chair over in his rush to the monitor. I can hear his breath coming in short, rattling gasps and he reaches a trembling hand up to touch the screen. Now a strange series of numbers are running across the monitor.

"It _can't _be," he whispers. "It can't be, but it _is!"_

I have no idea what he is talking about, but I can sense that something immensely important has just happened.

"It's Googolplex, 10^Googol—our favorite number, mine and Beetee's!" Dex cries.

"You have a favorite number?" I ask, nonplussed.

"Doesn't everyone?" respond Sam and Aero together.

"That's not the point!" says Dex impatiently. "The point is that this signal _must _be from Beetee and he's somewhere nearby!"

"Yeah, must be really close!" joins in Wrench excitedly. "We could never get the signal to broadcast that far—too many mountains. Putting the radio message on loop was just an act of desperation really—Dex's pet project—none of us actually expected to get a response!"

"Isn't that dangerous?" I ask Wrench. "Couldn't the Lords pick up the broadcast?"

"No, way," says Wrench complacently. "Sure, the Lords and their minions are smart, but we're smarter." He grins broadly at this. "We took extraordinary measures to hide the signal's origin point. It would be nearly impossible to trace it to the Aerie and besides that, even if the signal were intercepted, the message is so well encoded that no one besides Dex's brother could even make sense of it."

Everyone is still staring intently at the screen, wondering what Dex's next move will be, but the momentary excitement melts away rapidly, because the monitor is suddenly going haywire! Things are beeping and flashing and the screen is now flashing with the words "System Shutdown in Progress." A countdown from ten is blinking across the monitor in threatening red numerals. There is a flurry of activity around me as the techies start pushing buttons and frantically typing in codes. _Ten. _As a baker from 12 who's hardly even seen a computer in his life, there is absolutely nothing I can do to help. _Nine._

"Try hacking in and overriding the security system!" Dex is yelling to Wrench, whose fingers are flying so quickly across the keyboard that they are just flesh colored blurs. _Eight._

"I'm trying!" _Seven._ "But there's too many firewalls!" _Six._

"Well hurry, I'm losing the signal!" _Five. Four. Three. Two. _

_One._

There is a final blinding flash and the screen goes dark.

"Damn," says Dex quietly. He no longer sounds panicked, just devastated. His chance to make contact with his brother after over 40 long years has just been made fleetingly possible and then shut down completely, all in the blink of an eye.

"The security system must have detected the incoming signal," says Sarai, coming over and putting her arm around Dex's shoulders.

Wrench nods his head sadly. "Yeah, they probably thought they were picking up radio waves from one of those terrorist cells around the mountains and decided to put up a stronger Communo-Block around the stronghold—it fried our system. I'm…I'm sorry Dex…I couldn't hack it in time…"

"Hey now, sugar," says Sarai to Wrench. Her voice is calming like warm chamomile tea with honey. "It wasn't your fault. Anyway, we shouldn't be moping around over this—we should be celebrating! Beetee's out there Dex. He's alive and he didn't forget his promise. He's going to help us get out of here." She shakes his shoulder a bit trying to get him to cheer up.

"You're right, of course," he says with a sigh. "It's just…we were so close."

I feel sorry for Dex, but now I have my own worries to contend with. If Beetee's zeroing in on the stronghold then I can guess who's in _his _Star Squad. Haymitch, probably. Johanna. And _Katniss._ The thought of her so close makes my heart both leap with joy and anticipation and clench with fear and trepidation. I don't want Tree-rat or anyone else meddling around in Katniss' head—_Ever—_and I shudder to think what they would do to her if she were captured. I'm sure she would be better off dead. I think about the Nightlock capsules we used in the war. Would I be strong enough to kill her if I had to? Could I kill her to stop the icy venom from snaking it's way into her veins, to save her from a slow, agonizing descent into madness? I feel my throat constricting and I think I might be sick.

"You know what this means, don't you crew?" says Dex, who seems to have regained his poise and is now handing the situation with equanimity as usual. "We've got to kick our efforts into hyper-drive—every second is vital. We must move quickly, but not cut any corners. Final plans need to be drawn up and our Lucid allies must be alerted. In a few short days we could be leaving this Hell hole, but not unless we take those demons down with us!"

Now_ that _is some good propos material, I can't help but thinking as we all gather around Dex pumping our fists into the air and cheering. The fervor of the rebellion and the tantalizing prospect of victory cause the clenching fear in my heart to ease up just slightly. The Lords and their mental terrorism are going down, and they are going down _hard_.

* * *

Author's note: I want to take a moment to thank all the people who have added me to their alerts/favorite stories and especially to those who have taken the time to review. I really enjoy reading your comments! I started writing this fic because I was sick of reading stories when Peeta and Katniss just wallowed in their pain. They've been through a lot to be sure and deserve to act broken, but why not let them wallow in their pain while they're doing something exciting! Anyway, there was a lot of exposition in this chapter, but I hope you liked it! Keep the reviews coming!


	10. Fear

I don't know how long I've been staring at the radio—a minute, an hour, a day? Could this inscrutable message really be the missing piece we've been looking for, the clue that will take us to the stronghold? I think about Peeta and imagine seeing him for the first time. What will happen? Will I throw myself into his strong, waiting arms, our lips crashing together like nothing else in the world matters? Will I tell him I love him over and over again to make up for all the times I was too proud, or scared, or broken to do so before? Or will I find him with hollow eyes, emaciated, damaged beyond repair? Will I stroke his limp blonde locks desperately begging him to come back to me? Or worse. Will his mind be poisoned with venom—the only thing in the world that could force my kind, selfless husband to act upon the very darkest impulses of human nature. I can't help it. I let out a strangled cry and begin to sob.

Nobody knows what to do. Bring on an ambush, a knife fight, explosions, Muttations, fire-breathing mythical beasts—no problem! Just God forbid somebody cry.

I clutch my arms around my middle as if I'm trying to squeeze myself dry, but for some reason the dam has broken and all the unshed tears I have racked up in my life have suddenly decided to come spilling out. Tears for my father, for Rue, for Foxface and Thresh and Clove, for all those I killed or wanted to kill, for Finnick and Mags and Boggs, for Prim…for _Peeta._

Surprisingly, it's Haymitch who makes the first move. He comes over and puts his arms around me awkwardly and my forehead thuds against his chest. I almost don't recognize him without the smell of stale wine.

"There, there," he says in what he must think is a comforting voice. He pats me stiffly on the back. I imagine him mouthing the words "help me!" over my shoulder, but I'm too upset to even care, so I just squeeze my drunken, cantankerous old mentor more tightly. I know I'm going to feel foolish after this. I'm Katniss Everdeen. I grew out of tears at the age of twelve. But then I feel another set of arms snake around me, and another, and another, and another. There is something wet on the back of my neck and when I crane my neck around I see Gale with a big fat tear coursing down his olive cheek. In fact, I think everyone is crying. What a strange picture this would be to anyone happening upon us in the woods: Four of Panem's most recognizable Hunger Game's Victors, the undersecretary to the Minister of Defense, and a feral woman-child named Fish, all crying their eyes out over a radio.

When we finally break apart everyone is avoiding each other's eyes. I can't help but feel relieved that I'm not the only one who's had a breakdown today.

"Oi!" calls Johanna. "Girl on Fire! You got your snot all over my only tunic. Thanks a lot. The only plus here is that I bet Plutarch could auction it off for charity—Mockingjay bogies going once, twice?"

"How do you know it's not your own damn snot?" I point out with a smirk. "You're _crying_ Johanna Mason."

Johanna opens and closes her mouth soundlessly a few times, looking like a fish out of water, but there is no mistaking that glistening in her eyes. Finally she looks up, dumbfounded. "Well I'll be damned." And then for some reason she starts to laugh. At first it's an unhinged, hysterical sort of howl, but then it morphs into a laugh of relief, of release… of hope. We all join in, even Fish, although she looks confused. Is this what it feels like to be a real human being? To laugh, to cry, to let emotion out rather than keep it pent up inside?

That night when I go to bed I take out Peeta's pearl and roll it across my lips, thinking of the night he gave it to me, the night I realized for the first time how lost I would be without him. I pull my sleeping bag tighter around my shoulders and try to imagine that Peeta is there, holding me. In my dreams I see him drowning over and over again in a bowl filled with my tears.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning my eyes feel swollen and I'm sure that I was crying even in my sleep. Haymitch is being unnervingly attentive. He hands me a tin mug filled with mint tea and glances sideways at me, his eyes glinting oddly with concern. For some reason it annoys me.

"You ok, Sweetheart?" he says, reaching out as if he's going to put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Fine," I snap, brushing off his advance. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me, ok? Just leave me the hell alone." Haymitch draws back looking hurt and I immediately feel guilty for my tone of voice. I know it's not easy for Haymitch to deal with emotions—especially not without a stockpile of Ripper's white liquor. I remind myself to buy him a nice big case of it when we get home…if we get home.

"Sorry, Haymitch," I say penitently, scuffing my boot in the dirt. "I didn't mean that."

"I know," says Haymitch gruffly. He looks me directly in the eye. "And I know you're hurting. But we're all here for you whether you like it or not. You've got to stop pushing people away or one day you're going to find that you have no one left to shove. Believe me." We're so much alike, Haymitch and I, that it sometimes feels like the things he says are echoing that troublesome little voice deep inside me that I'm always trying to ignore. That voice that tells me that being strong doesn't always have to mean being alone. I barely nod my head, but Haymitch knows that I understand.

"Now stop sulking and go kill something. It'll make you feel better."

I feel the corners of my mouth tugging up in spite of myself and I grab my bow. Perhaps I can bag a rabbit or two before we hit the trail.

* * *

By noon, the sound of Beetee reciting the radio message over and over again like a mantra has become a sort of marching rhythm. By one o'clock it is annoying. And by two o'clock, when we halt for lunch, it is unbearable.

_All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost. _

Repeat.

_All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost._

Repeat.

"Um, Beetee," I begin, trying to sound diplomatic. Haymitch has stuffed his Siren finch earplugs back in and Johanna looks like she's about ready to send an axe through the back of Beetee's head. "Don't you think you should maybe take a break, you know, give yourself a little space from the problem?"

_The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost._

"Huh?" says Beetee absently and I can tell that he's not really listening.

"It's just…the constant muttering. It's getting on people's nerves," I finally confess.

That seems to shake Beetee out of his trance and he scowls over at me. "I thought you of all people would understand the importance of decoding this message, Katniss," he snaps. I feel a slight stab of guilt. I guess he has a point. "Any of the rest of you have something to say to me?" He glares around at the group menacingly, his knuckles white from clutching a paper filled with scribbles, half finished cipher codes and strings of numbers. "How far do you think you'd be without me? Huh? Answer me that! You wouldn't have made it out of the godforsaken goose shed!"

And with that, Beetee turns angrily on his heel and stomps off into the forest. The others appear relieved that he's taken his not-so-silent inner dialogue somewhere else, but I track him far enough to ascertain that he isn't thinking of running off for good (smart as he is, I don't think a grizzly bear would be very impressed by his ability to multiply large numbers in his head). I understand Beetee's frustration and don't begrudge him his outburst one bit—it actually makes me feel a bit better about my own capricious temper. The problem is just that there is nothing any of the rest of us can do about the puzzle and I think it's making us all feel a little impotent. We're the brawn and he's the brain, and it's frustrating.

When I get back to camp I help Fish scavenge some greens for our midday meal. Haymitch is actually making himself useful by refilling our canteens in the nearby spring and Johanna is sharpening her axe with a stone. Sometimes I see her doing things like this and, despite my own lethal tendencies, I still can't help but feel a little terrified of her.

"I think I'm going to go get some firewood," says Johanna suddenly and I think I see her eyes flit over to Gale for a second.

"I'll help her!" says Gale, jumping up a little too quickly. I catch Haymitch's eye and we exchange knowing smirks.

Since last night's breakthrough with the word "radio," I've been trying hard to coax some other words out of Fish.

"Grass," I say, pointing at the ground emphatically. "Grass."

She looks at me quizzically and says nothing. I take her hand and brush her long, narrow fingers against the brown, scraggly growth on the ground. "Grass," I say again.

There is a spark of recognition in her impossibly black eyes. "Grrrass?" she growls.

"Yes! Good job Fish, that's right!" I take her hand again and place it against the rough bark of a blue spruce. "Tree."

"Grrrass!" she shouts excitedly, nearly hopping up and down. I shake my head.

"No, Fish. Tree." I press her hand against the spruce for a second time. Then I remove it and bring it down to the ground. "Grass." I repeat the action several times until she finally makes the distinction. I'm already starting to feel my old friend impatience creeping up on me, but Fish is so enthusiastic that I continue on against my nature. I know I would make a terrible teacher. Once I tried to teach Peeta to shoot after months of him begging me, but by about the third arrow that he sent ricocheting off into the bushes I got sick of it and managed to distract him by finding that magic spot behind his ear with my lips. Anyway, Peeta's not a natural fighter, and I _like_ that about him. I hate seeing him with weapons in his hands, they look so foreign and unnatural there, like unwanted appendages grafted on by the Capitol when they forced him into the arena to kill. Peeta's hands are meant for comforting and for painting and for feeding starving mouths with bread. I think I have enough of an affinity for weapons for the both of us.

In an uncharacteristic display of physical affection (perhaps Peeta really _has_ been wearing off on me) I give Fish a big hug after she masters the words "arrow," "mountain," and "forest." She looks extremely pleased with herself. After a moment, she takes her hand and repeats the action that she did on that night when she caught all the fish, pressing her hand to her heart and then to mine. She looks up at me questioningly and repeats the action. I think for a second and then say, "Love, Fish. That's love."

Fish smiles to herself and I can tell that this is a word she knows, or once knew at least. "Love," she says happily.

Lunch has been ready for some time when Gale and Johanna finally come slinking out of the woods with a pretty pitiful stack of wood considering how long they've supposedly been out there gathering it. Gale's face turns bright red when Haymitch waggles his eyebrows at them suggestively, but Johanna just shrugs her shoulders and says, "What? Come on, like no one saw _that _coming. Look at his camera ready face." She does a spot on impression of Fulvia Cardew, who was in charge of my Mockingjay propos. If it's possible, Gale flushes even darker.

Haymitch and I can't hold it in any longer. We both burst out laughing. Fish is looking between the four of us with confusion again, but she can tell that something funny is supposedly going on because she breaks into a titter of simulated laughter, which only serves to make Haymitch and I lose it all over again. My eyes are still streaming with mirth when Fish tugs on my sleeve excitedly, "Love!" she says, pointing to Johanna and Gale. She looks at me expectantly, waiting for my approval at her use of one of today's new words, but I can't even pat her on the head because I'm shaking so hard with uproarious laughter.

"Oh God," wails Gale, throwing himself down next to me on a tree stump looking absolutely mortified.

Johanna, on the other hand, seems to be thoroughly enjoying herself. "Hey Mockingjay, are you going to give Fish the spiel about the birds and the bees, or shall I?" she smirks and pops a handful of nuts into her mouth, relishing the sight of Gale turning the shade of a radish. "Careful there handsome, or you might get stuck that color."

I nudge Gale in the ribs gently and give him a little smile. I hope he can tell from the gesture that I'm happy for him, since I know that I'll probably never be able to quite express it in words. I think he does get it because he bumps his shoulder against mine with a sheepish grin.

Just then, the levity of the moment is shattered by Beetee running out of the forest shouting at the top of his lungs. "I've got it! The message, I know what it means!"

We're gathered around him in the blink of an eye, craning our necks to see whatever he has scribbled on his paper. "It was so simple really, I can't believe it too me so long! You see, you just add up the number of words in the poem and then divide them by Pi, then I took my birthday—clever of him to use that combination of numbers, only I would think of it—and you count over five digits and then—"

"Beetee, we love you," breaks in Johanna, "but if you don't spit it out soon, I swear to God I will use my axe!"

"Ok, ok, it's just the math—it's so brilliant—"

"BEETEE!" We all shout as one.

"All right already!" he sighs, his eyes gleaming. "There were_ coordinates _hidden in the poem. Look!"

He digs our Holo-map out of his bag and jabs his finger at a point that is nestled between two high, rocky crags.

"See? This must be the entrance to the abandoned mineshafts!"

"You did it Beetee!" says Gale with a whoop, clapping Beetee on the back. I look around at everyone's tense, excited faces and then start stamping out the fire.

"Well, come on! What's everybody waiting for?" I yell.

Within a few minutes we have packed up everything from lunch and left the site spotless. Fish takes the lead again and spends her time enthusiastically pointing out all of the words she knows as we march along. The bubble of hope and anticipation within me is expanding rapidly with every step we take but I'm afraid of what will happen if it bursts. This seems almost too simple. After all the deterrents we've been through so far can I really believe that we'll just be allowed to walk in the back door? Gale says that he doesn't think the coordinates Beetee discovered are anywhere near the main entrance—something about the location not being strategic and defensible—but I'm still feeling on edge. I keep my fingers tight on my loaded bow and my eyes alert and I notice that Haymitch is doing the same. Birds of a feather, I think wryly.

The terrain is changing quickly and there is no longer as much cover from trees, which makes me wary. Since lunch we have been climbing steadily, scrambling over rugged outcroppings of rock and edging around some pretty precarious, narrow ledges. I see a hawk circling overhead and it seems somehow ominous to me. I feel like there are eyes everywhere.

And it turns out I'm not wrong to be paranoid. We have just slid down a little ridge when I notice a sentry poised high up on a boulder. He is scanning the area with keen, practiced eyes and he is armed with a sniper's rifle and extra ammunition.

"Get down!" I hiss. We all shrink into the shadows and I point up at the sentry. He doesn't seem to have noticed anything, but I know that I won't be able to breathe normally again until we get out of here. "Beetee," I whisper. "I think we must be getting too close to the main entrance, I want to move a little farther west." He nods and lets me slip past him. I gesture over my shoulder for the others to follow me _quietly, _and I try to flatten myself out against the rock face as much as I can. The moment we stick a toe out of the shadows I'm certain we'll be spotted. I see the others mimicking my actions and for a split second I find myself thanking God that Peeta is not here with his heavy, uneven tread—we'd be found out for sure. At one point Johanna accidentally sends a small stone tumbling down into the canyon below and the I see the sentry perk up at the noise. There is a tense moment where we all hold our breath as the sentry's eyes skim across the area where we are just barely hidden by the rock ledge jutting out above us, and then there is a collective sigh of relief when the sentry seems satisfied that there is nothing there.

When we have finally skirted around the mountain and out of the sentry's sight line Gale lets out a low whistle. "Now _that _was close. Good eyes, Katniss," he says, nodding at me.

Beetee looks shaken. "You're right Katniss. If they've got sentries out here then we're too close for comfort."

We're just unfolding the map again to find a new route when I look around and see Fish hopping down a little trail overgrown with dry, scraggly plants. "Fish!" I call. "Get back here. Where are you going?"

She looks around at the group and waves for us to follow her. I frown slightly and catch Johanna's eye. I can see that she is looking doubtful, too. Sure we've been using Fish as a guide up till now, but the fact remains that we still really know nothing about this girl, where she came from or how far over the cuckoo's nest she has really flown. I, for one, am confident that she is not a threat to us and that she would not wittingly lead us into danger, but can we really trust her judgment now that we have penetrated so far into enemy territory?

Then Fish surprises us all by speaking. "Secrets, I know. Can keep a secret." This is the first phrase I've heard her utter and none of the words are the ones we were reviewing in the forest. "Can keep secret, yes I can!" She says urgently. Fish scurries back up the slope, grabs my hand and looks up at me with round, imploring eyes. "_Secrets."_ She says again and this time it is just a whispered supplication.

I'm completely baffled, but when I look in Fish's eyes I feel somehow reassured. She knows something important, there is no doubt about that.

"Ok," I say slowly. I know that the decision is mine to make. "I'm going with Fish, but if the rest of you want to take a different route I won't hold it against you."

I look into the determined, war-hardened faces of my companions and know immediately that I was wrong to have doubted their daring for one second.

"Don't be an idiot, Sweetheart. It's not very becoming," grunts Haymitch going over and ruffling Fish's hair. "Lead on Fish!"

My heart swells as I see Beetee, Johanna and Gale all fall in step behind Fish. It's a mark of the strength of our bond of friendship that none of them even question my judgment. My Seam sensibilities prickle when I realize that this is something I'll never be able to pay them back for, but I guess friendship, as I'm finally starting understand, is not about repaying debts. Friendship is not about transactions, but about trust. I guess that's why Peeta's so good at it.

We have to go single file now because the trail is so narrow. I notice that Haymitch is hugging the mountain particularly closely and every once in a while I see him grasp the rock and close his eyes with a grimace.

"Haymitch," I wheedle, feeling amused. "You're not afraid of heights are you?"

"Am I afraid of heights? Not at all. What could have ever tipped you off to that," says Haymitch sarcastically. "I'm _terrified. _Almost got knifed in the Games 'cause I couldn't force myself to climb a jack pine."

I know I shouldn't laugh at Haymitch's predicament so I just bite my lip and settle for a shared smirk with Johanna and Gale.

"Oh _perfect,_" says Haymitch all of a sudden and I follow his gaze to a hazardous looking rope bridge straight ahead. It is swaying visibly in the cool mountain breeze. The irony is overwhelming. Even though I am not technically afraid of heights, my breath still catches slightly in my throat when I look down and notice that far,_ far_ below there is a twisting river swirling with white rapids.

"Last one across is a rotten egg!" calls Johanna approaching the bridge with her typical swagger and aura of utter fearlessness. Haymitch groans and clutches his chest as she sets a foot carefully on the first warped slat, pressing down lightly to see if it will hold her weight. It seems stable enough for a bridge made out of old wood and fraying cables. _How long has this thing been here?_ I can't help but ask myself. We all hold our breath as Johanna crosses the ravine gracefully, putting one foot confidently in front of the other and barely even touching the wire supports on either side of her. When Johanna makes it to the other side she dismounts and flings her hands into the air like a gymnast who has just stuck a landing. We cheer quietly, still hyper aware that we are in enemy territory, and I feel a little better now that I see one of us has made it across without any trouble.

Fish decides to go next and she prances across as easily as if the bridge were hanging two feet about the ground instead of two hundred. Then Gale goes and I hold my breath because I know he is a lot heavier than the two girls, but he too passes without an incident. Beetee is the fourth to shuffle across, and then it is just Haymitch and I left on the other side.

"Are you going to be ok?" I ask him, noticing that his face has turned green and he is shaking like a leaf.

He swallows audibly. "Um, yes. I'll be fine. Y-you just go Katniss. I'm right behind you."

I'm not convinced, but we can't waste anymore time, so I give his shoulder a quick squeeze and then turn towards the bridge. The second I step onto it I feel it sway dangerously beneath my feet and my stomach lurches. I am regretting having second helpings of rabbit at lunch. But by focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and warning myself not to look down, I make it across quickly. When I hop off onto the deliciously solid ground on the other side I even feel a little exhilarated. I push back the windswept hair that has escaped my braid and look back across to see how Haymitch is doing. He is still standing motionless on the other end like he has forgotten how to move his feet.

"Come on old man!" shouts Johanna. "You can win the Hunger Games but you can't handle a little bridge?"

It's another sign of how similar Haymitch and I are that an attack on his pride is what motivates him to finally take a deep breath and step out over the ravine. He is gripping the cables tightly and I think the shaking in his knees is actually making the bridge sway more precariously than before, but he makes it three fourths of the way across without panicking once. I am about to let out a whoop of encouragement at his progress when one of the slats suddenly gives out beneath him. As if in slow motion I see Haymitch's eyes widen and then, with a shout of terror, he disappears from sight.

I let out a strangled cry and rush over to the edge of the ravine, my heart pounding so hard that I feel like it might bound right out of my chest. But Haymitch hasn't fallen completely. No. There he is, clutching at the plank in front of him, his knuckles white, legs dangling in the air uselessly. Oh God, there's no way he can hang on much longer!

"What do we do!" I shriek, feeling panicky and irrational. "What do we do!"

Out of the corner of my eye I see Johanna streaking towards the bridge, flinging off her pack as she runs. She has a length of rope in her hand.

"Johanna, no!" shouts Gale after her. "It's too dangerous!"

"Save it Hawthorne, that drunken old coot is the closest thing I have to a father."

It's clear that Johanna is used to clambering around at the tops of trees in District 7, lumber, because being up so high doesn't even make her flinch. She carefully secures the rope around her waist, no doubt using a knot tying technique she learned in the Games, and throws the other end to me, which finally serves to snap me out of my incapacitated state of blind panic. I loop the rope around a tree and cinch it tightly.

"Hang on Haymitch," bellows Johanna, edging along the bridge on her hands and knees, bracing herself for a sudden drop. She is almost to the gap where Haymitch has fallen and she reaches out her arms. "Just grab my hand old timer, come on, you can do it!"

Haymitch's breath is coming in short gasps and he refuses to let go of the plank. "Can't do 't," he pants, looking at Johanna with wild eyes. "Can't."

"Yes you bloody can!" says Johanna lunging forward and grabbing his wrist just as the plank he's holding onto breaks free and falls noiselessly into the abyss. Johanna struggles momentarily to get a better grip on Haymitch's sweaty hand while the rest of us grab the rope and pull with all our might. Slowly but surely we see Haymitch's head and shoulders followed by the rest of his body being towed into view, and a few seconds later we are all lying panting on the ground thanking every deity we can think of.

Gale has recovered enough from the shock to glare at Johanna. "Don't you _ever _scare me like that again," he says in a low voice and then, before she can protest, he reaches over and kisses her fiercely, not even caring anymore that we can all see. Luckily for Gale, Haymitch is still so shaken up that he can barely even manage a smirk.

* * *

The next morning we get a little later start than usual and I'm feeling jittery and anxious by the time we finally get on the road. We're getting close, I know we are, but it still seems like it's taking forever. Now that the sun is climbing high into the brilliant blue sky I'm driving us along at such a breakneck pace that even Fish is starting to have trouble keeping up with me. I think the change in altitude is having an effect on everyone's endurance, but the prospect of seeing Peeta soon makes me forget about my own body, and I refuse to slow down.

"Come on guys," I pant as I pull myself to the top of a steep outcropping. I turn around to see how the others are doing, leaning on the tree branch I've been using as a walking stick and wiping my forehead with the back of my sleeve. "Almost there."

In front of us is a narrow passageway between two sheer rock faces, and if Beetee's coordinates are correct, the back entrance to the stronghold should be just beyond it. My fingers are tingling with anticipation as the others drag themselves slowly and laboriously up the incline, Fish bringing up the rear.

"So it's just through there I guess, huh?" says Gale, breathing heavily.

Just then, I hear a frightened squeak behind me and see Fish cowering near the ground, a look of absolute terror in her eyes. My bow snaps into position. "What! What is it Fish? What do you see?"

The whole team has their weapons out now and we subconsciously form ourselves into a protective semicircle, scanning the terrain for any sign of assailants. It soon becomes clear that there is nothing there, at least nothing _we _perceive as a threat. Fish, on the other hand, is crouched low to the ground, clenching her head in her hands and rocking back and forth on her haunches, still staring straight ahead at the passage with wide, bulging eyes as if she's peering into the very mouth of Hell.

I kneel down beside her and try to force her to look at me, but she blocks my advance with a flash of fingernails and an angry hiss. I haven't seen her act so oddly for days, she really seemed like she was getting better, like she was warming up to me. "Fish!" I say, chastising her. "What's gotten into you?"

She snaps her teeth at me menacingly.

"Come on Fish, we've got to go. We're going to find Peeta. Don't you want to help me find Peeta?" I take my hand and press it to my heart and then gesture towards the trail ahead. She shakes her head violently and retreats farther from the mouth of the passage until she has backed herself all the way up against the far cliff face.

I look to Gale for advice because I know he has developed a soft spot for Fish just as I have. "What should we do?" I ask desperately.

"Well, what _can _we do? I think we'll have to leave her, Katniss," he says with a sigh. "She's refusing to go on and we can't drag her in there kicking and screaming—she could give us away."

I search Gale's eyes for a moment, but I know he is right. If Fish cannot or will not go on then we'll have to leave her to fend for herself—she's obviously been doing so for years, perhaps she'll even be safer without us. I look over at her sadly and tell her with a tone of finality, "Fish, I'm going through there, do you understand? I have to." Touching my palm once more to my heart and then extending it in her direction, I turn around purposefully, willing myself not to cry. I don't know why I'm having such a hard time saying goodbye to Fish, I hardly knew her really, but for some reason I feel as though I'm leaving a part of myself behind. It's almost like shrugging off my sixteen-year-old self like old skin.

Gesturing for the others to follow me, I walk over to the mouth of the passageway and peer down it. It doesn't _look_ particularly sinister.

"What do you think?" asks Beetee. "Do we go through one at a time like at the bridge?"

"No," I say firmly, remembering Haymitch dangling in the air over the ravine. "We go together. Present a united front."

I take a deep calming breath and then extend my hand to Johanna on my left and Haymitch on my right. I don't even bother keeping my bow at ready because I doubt that whatever Fish is so afraid of in here is going to be something that can be taken down with arrows. With one last determined glance at my companions, I step over the threshold to the passageway. I scrunch my eyes up and hunch my shoulders a bit expecting who-knows-what sort of terror to come swooping down upon us, but at first nothing happens. There is just complete and utter silence pressing in on my ears like swaths of heavy cotton. And then suddenly it happens.

I see _Prim_ in front of me. It's impossible, but there she is! She's dressed in her starchy white medic's outfit and I notice that even in uniform her little duck's tail is sticking out. I'm about to rush forward and tuck it in when I hear a thundering overhead and the bombs begin to fall. Now I'm running towards her screaming at the top of my lungs, but I know it's too late. All that is left is a bloody mess of limbs. I vomit violently onto the ground and when I look up I see Peeta with a deranged look in his eyes, struggling wildly against leather restraints as a Capitol doctor injects him with a syringe filled with tracker-jacker venom. I blink and then I see him dead on the floor, his throat slit ear to ear, blood pooling around his pale, lifeless face. I try to scream, but I can't, because suddenly Cato is there, and he is holding his hands over my mouth! I thrash about, trying to break free, but he just laughs maniacally and nods his head towards the scene playing out in front of us. I see Marvel's knife sink into tiny, innocent Rue's chest over and over again as if someone has put the Games on repeat. Now I'm sobbing uncontrollably, sinking to my knees in despair as I watch the bodies piling up around me. _Just let me die now! _I think in agony. _Please God, let me die! _They are dead. All dead and dying. Let me join them. I vaguely notice that I've shrunk up against the cliff face and I try bashing my head against the jagged stone. I feel a trickle of blood run down temple and I smile to myself. Good, it shouldn't be long now. I try to make the motion again, but I feel a pair of strong, small hands digging into the flesh on my shoulders.

"Ge' off me," I mutter weakly, feeling the blackness overcoming me. One more hit and I'm done for sure. But the little hands are persistent. They are dragging, pushing, pulling me forward and I stumble along too lost in grief to care what happens to me anymore.

I feel myself thump to the ground and the world feels like it is spinning around me. Something odd is happening. Where are all the bodies? Where are Prim and Peeta and Finnick and father? Instead, other faces are swimming into view, but they don't look bloody at all—pale and anxious, yes—but not bloody.

"Katniss?" I hear a familiar voice calling, but it sounds as if it is coming from far away. "Katniss, wake up!" For a moment my eyes focus on Gale and then I feel myself slipping away into a blissful sea of darkness.

* * *

When I begin to wake up I notice a painful throbbing in my right temple and I hear snatches of hushed conversation from my companions, who I dimly notice are gathered around a roaring campfire.

"—some kind of fear simulator—"

"—it was like a never ending parade of the worst moments of my life—"

"—absolutely terrifying—"

"—how long do you think Katniss was in there? If Fish hadn't gone after her…"

At that piece of news I try propping myself up a bit on my elbows, but I immediately fall back down with a groan. So it was Fish who came after me then. I feel a rush of gratitude toward her for pulling me out of the worst nightmare I have ever experienced in my life, and I thought I was pretty well versed in nightmares…

The sound of my stirring has drawn the attention of the others and I soon see five pairs of red-rimmed, concerned eyes staring down at me. It's obvious from the look of them that they all suffered similar agony in that innocuous looking passageway.

"Hey," I manage to croak, and I see them all breath a collective sigh of relief.

"You scared us pretty good there, Katniss," says Haymitch and I can tell by his omission of his usual sarcastic pet name for me that he was really worried. Someone has bandaged my head wound and I don't appear to have lost too much blood.

"M' sorry about that," I reply, giving them a half smile that probably looks more like a grimace. I search for Fish among the crowd and see her hanging back a bit behind Gale. "Thanks Fish."

"Love," she says simply. She looks deathly pale and it makes me wonder what she saw in there.

"Well, you want to know the good news, Katniss?" says Beetee gently. I nod my head, which turns out to be a big mistake since it makes the pain in my temple triple. "_We found the back door."_

I briefly register the boarded up entrance to an ancient looking mineshaft and with a half-mad, relieved smile, I faint for a second time.

* * *

Author's Note: Whew! Lot's of emotions in this one. I know you're all anxious for Katniss to find Peeta and she will soon, I promise! Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed, especially The Jumble Book, whose thoughtful commentary and predictions make me want to keep writing. Let me know what you think!


	11. Breakthrough

"You see Peeta, you just press this button and you move forward, this one and you move back. It's simple," says Wrench, standing up and gesturing for me to take his place in front of the computer.

We're all supposed to be working on Operation Dark (our tongue in cheek name for the revolution that we hope will overthrow the Lords of Light for good), but everyone has been feeling so sorry for me lately that they gave Wrench the task of distracting me for the afternoon. It's not hard to guess why, because I know I look a real sight. Every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection I hardly recognize myself, or maybe that's not quite the right way to put it, because I _do _recognize myself, but it's just not the real me, it's high-jacked Peeta, and I _hate _him. My face looks drawn and haggard, my starchy standard issue shirt now hangs loosely around my wasting frame, and my eyes are like dark empty pools. I can hardly force myself to eat anymore and sleep is virtually impossible. I'm losing hope. It used to be the thought of Katniss that kept me going, but now I can't help but pray that she will stay as far away from me as possible—I just can't bear the thought of putting her through this again. I still can't quite understand why she stuck it out the first time. My episodes were so bad those first few years, and she didn't have to stay, didn't I tell her so over and over again? Didn't I beg her to leave after every broken chair, every crass, hurtful thing I said, every time I raised a hand against her in violence? I pleaded with her time and time again, but that crazy, stubborn, _amazing _woman simply wouldn't budge.

One of the worst episodes I can remember occurred just a few months after I had returned to Twelve. Katniss had agreed to come over for dinner and I was trying so hard to be normal. I had spent all day preparing an elaborate meal and cleaning the house from top to bottom. I had even put a vase of wild flowers on the table, which I know she secretly likes but won't admit to, because liking flowers seems too frivolous for a gritty survivor like she is. I don't know what triggered the attack. Sometimes it doesn't take much—a word, a gesture, a sound, even certain scents can set me off from time to time. All I know is that one moment we were eating dinner quietly and the next I had launched myself to the far end of the kitchen, anchoring myself to the oven door in an attempt to fight the vile, inexorable urge to destroy the person I love most in the world. I'm not sure what happened next because during an attack the grisly scenarios playing out in my head almost completely obscure the equally horrendous nature of reality, but Katniss must have managed to run away because even the semi-amnesia brought on by an episode couldn't fool me if I had laid a hand on her.

The next morning when I came down the stairs I had found my house in complete disarray. Somehow I had managed to break every plate I owned, tear out the stuffing in the living room couch and scatter the alimentary contents of the kitchen cabinets all over the downstairs. And amidst all the wreckage there was Katniss, dressed in only a simple nightdress that I couldn't help but notice only went down to her mid-thigh, repairing one of the broken kitchen chairs for the third time that month. Her mussed hair and the tangle of blankets on the floor suggested that she had slept there fitfully. I felt a lump forming in my throat and I swallowed with difficulty. "What are you doing here?" I asked coldly, determined to drive her off once and for all—for her own good.

She didn't respond, just selected another tool from the box on the floor and continued working.

"What is _wrong _with you?" I can remember shouting, raising my voice to her in anger for the first time ever in a none-episode state. "Do you have a death wish! Get out of here Katniss! Leave! Go stay with your mother. Go find Johanna. Hell, go find _Gale_! Just get— away—from—_me!"_ I was breathing heavily, a million emotions coursing through my body, from fear to rage to unbearable sorrow.

She looked up very slowly then and with a look so harrowing that I'll never forget it. "Peeta," she said in a low, dangerous voice—deadly calm. "Don't you _ever _suggest I take the coward's way out again."

I opened my mouth to protest, but the look she was giving me shut me up right away.

"No, don't speak," she continued, tightening the last screw on the broken chair and setting it upright with a slam that made me jump a little. "Just come over here and _sit_ the hell down."

I obeyed, feeling like a dog with my tail between my legs.

"I'm sick of you trying to be so _noble _all the time. This martyr bit you've got going is getting old Peeta and we're not on TV anymore so you can stop playing the tragic, self-sacrificing _idiot. _You think I would be here if I didn't want to be?" She snorts in derision. "Of _course _I wouldn't be. I'm Katniss freakin' Everdeen. I'm selfish and impatient and impulsive—most of the time I do whatever the hell I want—and don't you try to tell me otherwise Peeta," she says, cutting me off before I can even open my mouth to protest. "Everyone else can see my flaws but you. Get your head out of your rear and feast your eyes upon imperfection."

Her eyes were flashing dangerously, but I couldn't help it, I had to speak up. "Katniss, you don't exactly see yourself the way you should—the effect you can have—"

Katniss threw up her hands in frustration and let out an exasperated howl. "Peeta open your eyes! Don't you understand that this is the problem? You've put me on this pedestal for so long that you can't even see that I'm just as broken and messed up as you—maybe more so! Here, look at these scars!"

Taking me completely by surprise, she tore off her nightdress and threw it to the ground angrily. And then there she was. Just standing there in front of me in her white cotton underwear, looking radiant beyond belief with her flushed, angry cheeks and that signature scowl I had come to love so much over the years. I tried valiantly not to look, feeling unbelievably slimy for feeling even the slightest twinge of sexual arousal in such a tense and distinctly unromantic situation. This was certainly never how I had imagined seeing Katniss naked for the first time.

"Just _look_ at me Peeta," she said quietly, her voice catching in her throat and her eyes glinting with an unfamiliar shade of vulnerability. "Look at me and see me for who I am and then trust me to stick around so I can be the person I want to be. _Please." _

The pleading tone in her voice and that sad, scared look in her eyes shook me to my core. I crossed the room in three long strides and scooped her into my arms gently as if she were one of those delicate wild flowers she tried so hard not to be. I just held her like that against my chest for a long time, savoring the feeling of her heart beating in time with mine, the feel of her bare skin, velvety beneath my fingers. That was when I knew that I could never let her go, that our fates were sealed, that our mutual brokenness was the only thing that could ever make a whole for us…But now, in her gaping absence, my old doubts have begun to creep back. Perhaps, says the sneering voice in my head, if you just die here Katniss will actually have a chance at happiness.

"Peeta?" I hear a concerned voice say and then I see Wrench's hand waving in front of my face. "You still with me buddy?"

I shake my head vigorously as if I can rattle that odious little voice right out of my head, and try to give Wrench a reassuring smile. Just a few days ago I had been so eager to learn to use a computer, but now, after several more sessions of pure, undiluted agony, I feel so dead inside that I can hardly focus. I look up and try to push the thoughts of Tree-rat's simulations out of my mind. On the screen there is a small oxcart rattling along a dusty trail and I see a notification on the bottom of the monitor that tells me my party has just lost a member to cholera.

"What's this game called again?" I ask Wrench.

"Oregon Trail. It had a huge cult following way back in the days of the first computers and it became such a classic that they kept modernizing it so people can still play."

"Huh. Interesting…oh shoot, all my oxen just died when I tried to ford the river…"

A few minutes later I hear Dex calling a meeting and I inexpertly jab the mouse at three wrong buttons before I finally figure out how to turn off the game. I sink into the sofa between Sarai and Clef, trying hard to ignore their looks of concern. It only makes me feel worse to know that I'm creating more anxiety for the rebels, as if planning a revolution weren't stressful enough, now they have a neurotic new recruit on the verge on a mental breakdown to worry about.

Usually our meetings deal with a lot of complicated technical issues and science-speak that completely befuddle me—overriding the HoloWeb security block, developing a mass signal scrambling apparatus, tweaking the whatyamacallits and rebooting the thingamajigs—but today Dex surprises me when he announces that he has a special mission for me, if I am up to it, of course.

"A mission for _me_?" I ask incredulously. "You guys know I can hardly turn on a computer, right? What can I possibly do?"

"Well, you see Peeta, our intelligence tells us that the Enforcers are calling you "The Asset."'

"The Asset?" I repeat. It sounds like something out of a bad spy novel.

"Yes, I know, it _does_ sound rather dramatic," says Dex, as if he's reading my thoughts. "But as I'm sure you've already suspected, the Lords' interest in you has something to do with your remarkable recovery from the hijacking. As far as I know, no one has ever recovered as completely as you have, and _certainly _not to such an extent that they were actually able to _marry _the woman they were programmed to kill. It's incredible, really."

"Yeah, amazing," I say bleakly. Sarai puts a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry Peeta, I didn't mean it like that. Anyway, the point is, we think the Lords are up to something potentially devastating and we're pretty sure it has something to do with tracker-jacker venom. Right now you're perfectly poised to figure out what's going on in the M.A.D. department. We've never been able to infiltrate it because the only captives allowed in there are those that they're…experimenting on…and we simply can't afford to entrust someone so mentally unstable with our secrets."

Dex pauses for a moment to let me take it all in. I can tell that the others are waiting for my response with bated breath. Well, of course they are. How long have some of them been here: ten, twenty, even thirty years? They all want to take these bastards down and it appears that I of all people might be the one who can put the final nail in the coffin. This is bigger than me, I decide. If we don't take down the Lords soon who knows what kind of terror they could wreck on Panem—with their advanced technology and obvious disregard for human life, no one will be safe, and that includes Katniss.

I take a deep breath. "Ok, I'm in. What's the plan?"

Together we work out a scheme for my next session with Tree-rat. Just before the end of the trials I will pop a special pill that Sarai has developed for just such an occasion, which will make me become violently ill. The doctors will most likely think it's a side effect of the tracker-jacker venom and Sarai's drug breaks down very quickly, meaning that the symptoms will be brief and traces of a foreign substance will not show up in blood tests. Our hope is that my rapid deterioration in health will prompt me to be rushed to the M.A.D. wing for testing.

* * *

The next day at breakfast I'm feeling so nervous that it's even more difficult than usual to choke down the tasteless porridge, but I know that I'll need my strength if I'm going to come out of this mission successfully, so I swallow it dutifully. As I am eating I hear a gong and the Holo Address System comes on—it's a sort of announcement mechanism that projects a giant hologram of an ugly, middle-aged Enforcer with an impossibly large mole up into the domed ceiling of the cafeteria. Every time I see the Holo I'm certain that the man's mole is actually getting bigger. I listen disinterestedly as the talking head drones on about the usual propaganda—Paylor's reign of terror, the unending mercy of the Lords of Light, etc. etc.—and when it's two minutes to nine I stand up, give Dex, who is sitting across the room, a barely perceptible nod, and walk towards Exam Room 3 for what is sure to be the most excruciating session yet.

The last couple of sessions I've noticed that Tree-rat seems on edge. I've always sensed that he has an explosive temper since there have been a few times when I've caught a glimmer of it, but now the doctor's thin layer of outward calm is rapidly peeling away. Something is not going according to plan with the trials, and he is _not _happy about it.

Today Tree-rat hooks me up to the simulator once again and injects me with an extra large dose of venom. My heart starts racing, but when I touch Sarai's pill in my pocket the thought of the revolution gives me a jolt of courage. I wonder grimly how simulation Peeta will try to kill Katniss today, and I say _try_ because since that first day in the simulator I have managed to fight off the simulation's intention to kill every single time.

The simulation has tried to force me to drown her, shoot her, stab her, choke her, push her out of a window—you name it! But every time I see simulation Peeta going in for the kill something just clicks in my brain and I fight the urge so hard that my entire body clenches up and every last drop of blood is squeezed from my fingers as I grip the railings on the simulator. Not real, I shout to myself over and over again. Not real! And then after a desperate, agonizing internal battle, the roaring in my ears finally starts to grow fainter and fainter until it sounds like a gentle rustling wind. Soon the terrifying scene around us begins to melt away until it is just Katniss and I standing alone in a meadow. I don't think it's place I've ever been to before, but it looks familiar, like a place I might visit in my dreams, and when I see Katniss there silhouetted against a sky of gathering storm clouds, her hair loose and dancing about her face, there is not an inkling of hate left in me, just a feeling of deep serenity… and something like bliss.

Every time I take myself to this place the simulation tries desperately to reroute me, forces weapons into my hands, redirects me toward violence, but once I'm in that meadow nothing can be done. I'm free.

Today arriving at the meadow is harder than usual, probably due to the increased dosage of venom, but when I finally find my way there and that feeling of calm sweeps through my weary soul, I actually let out a sigh of relief even though I am still under the influence of the simulation. The feeling doesn't last long, however, because I am jolted back into reality by Tree-rat yanking the metal band off my head rather aggressively.

"_How_ do you keep doing that?" he hisses, grabbing my wrists roughly and pulling me out of the simulator. "At first I found it amusing—I do enjoy a good challenge—but now it's just getting downright _irritating." _

I give him my best blank stare and play dumb, "I'm sorry, I don't know what you are referring to."

Tree-rat doesn't answer, he just shoves me into the examination chair and starts scribbling on his clipboard, muttering under his breath. "No, it shouldn't be possible with such a high dose—_ridiculous_—where's that stupid meadow_ coming_from—the Master is _not _going to be happy—"

My ears perk up a bit at the mention of the Master, but Tree-rat doesn't say anything of further significance. I decide to take this moment while he is distracted to slip the little pill into my mouth and swallow. The drug works it's magic, or rather its horror, quickly. A sudden twisting sensation in my gut causes me to double over and vomit over the side of the chair, right on to the dear doctor's shoes (I allow myself a private smile at this). Tree-rat hops back from the table looking disgusted.

"Oh lovely," he says sarcastically. "Don't you cause me enough problems as it is?"

I don't answer because I'm too busy heaving up another round of this morning's breakfast.

Tree-rat breathes a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. "Well, I suppose I'd better get you to the medical wing."

Sarai was right, the effects of the drug do wear off surprisingly rapidly, but I maintain the façade of being violently ill as Tree-rat shoves me into a wheel chair and rolls me down a series of corridors. My heart skips a beat when I see us approaching a set of double doors marked M.A.D in red letters. There is a pair of burly looking Enforcers guarding the entrance and Tree-rat flashes them an ID badge.

"Bad tracker-jacker trip," he says, rolling his eyes at me.

The guards nod and let him pass. I try to be as attentive as possible while still appearing plausibly ill—I even moan a bit for good measure. There are a few of the mad looking captive shuffling around in the hallway, closely monitored by Enforcers with batons like the one that the hawk-eyed woman used to shock Jilly that day in the cafeteria, but I can't see much else. Tree-rat wheels me into an exam room, parks me unceremoniously in the center of the room, and presses a call button on the wall.

"A nurse will be in shortly," he spits, obviously still angry for some reason about my performance during sessions.

As soon as I see his lab coat whip around the frame of the door I abandon the wheelchair and peer out into the corridor. There are a few Enforcers around, but none of them are paying attention, so I take a small black ball out of my pocket and roll it down the hallway towards the exit with as much force as I can muster. Halfway down it bumps into a cart of medical supplies and explodes, spewing out a gluttonous foul smelling substance onto a crowd of unsuspecting bystanders. I don't wait to see what will happen, I just slip out the door and move in the opposite direction as swiftly as possible. I stay close to the wall where I can hopefully duck into doorframes or window wells if I meet any Enforcers, but I have a feeling that Jetta's Diversion Sphere is going to keep most of them occupied for a while.

I'm peering into every door in my path, but I'm not really sure what I'm looking for, so it makes my mission a bit daunting. Just look for something out of the ordinary, Dex had said. Out of the ordinary, ha! What _isn't _out of the ordinary in this place. I'm nearing the end of my second corridor, when I suddenly spot her. It's Jilly.

I know it's risky, but I promised Jetta that if I saw her I would try to send a message, so after glancing around and seeing that the coast is clear, I sidle up to Jilly and touch her lightly on the arm. She leaps away, startled, but fortunately she doesn't make a sound, just looks at me with round, startled eyes. "Your sister Jetta asked me to tell you something," I say to Jilly gently, and I see recognition flash briefly across her face. "She wants you to know she loves you very much."

I wish I could say more, could stay there and try to comfort the little girl, but I know that I must move on before anyone notices I'm gone. However, just as I'm about to leave I feel a tug on my sleeve. "Red mist," says Jilly in that thin, vacant voice. Her eyes are boring a hole in the heavy metal door at the end of the corridor and even though I know she is insane, I feel that her message is clear beyond a doubt.

"Thanks Jilly," I whisper, fixing my own eyes on the door and approaching it with some trepidation. The corridor is empty, so I hurry over and squint into the small window in the door.

Inside I see a collection of captives divided into two camps: those in the group on the far side of the room have gas masks over their mouths and noses but the group nearer to me have none. Nothing particularly horrible seems to be happening, but I can tell by the way their knees are shaking that something is about to, and sure enough, after a few seconds I notice a thin red fog creeping into the room—_red mist!_

Those in the group without the masks are cowering now in anticipation and I soon find out why. In the blink of an eye the masked captives have launched themselves at the other group, and despite having no actual weapons, they seem to be causing quite a lot of damage without them. They appear savage and merciless, acting more like wild animals than humans as they tear apart their defenseless counterparts with their nails and teeth and fists and feet. I almost have to turn my face away it is so hard to watch. It reminds me of seeing the Hunger Games on TV as a child, only this somehow seems much worse, because usually even the most callous Careers betrayed some shred of basic human decency…

And then as quickly as it started, it stops. I see the red mist receding into the vents along the wall and the masked captives immediately stop brutalizing the others. In fact, I see that most of them are looking horrified, even crying, as they survey the carnage. I want to find out more about the red mist, but I know that my time is running out, so I tear my eyes away from the window and scurry back down the maze of corridors to the exam room. I can still smell the noxious odor from the Diversion Sphere and it appears that the substance was potent enough to keep my captors busy while I was gone.

"_There _you are!" says a sharp female voice. Oops, maybe not.

What should I do? Think, Peeta, think! With a sudden burst of inspiration I turn around with a woozy, dazed expression on my face and stumble a bit, reaching out to grab the wall in feigned dizziness.

"Are you th' nurse?" I slur, rolling my eyes back up into my head. "I jus' was lookin' for the bathroo—"

I let my knees go slack and collapse into the woman's arms.

She shrieks a little and begins sinking under my weight, "Um, can I get a little help over here? We've got a fainter!"

* * *

It turns out I'm a pretty good actor, because I easily fooled the nurses with my ruse (guess all the theatrics of the Hunger Games actually came in handy for something). That night when I regale the others with my tale about the inner workings of M.A.D. there is intense speculation over the possible implications of the red mist, and in the end, there are three main points that we all agree on: 1. This mist has something to do with Jackerling, 2. It is fast acting and incredibly potent, and kind of weapon of mass-destruction could have devastating effects on Panem.

After the main meeting has broken up and the rebels have split off into small clusters to continue puzzling out how this newfound intelligence will affect our plans for the revolution, I make sure to take Jetta aside and tell her about Jilly. She's too choked up to say anything, but the bone-crushing hug she gives me speaks volumes.

Scanning the chamber for a place where I can find some space for reflection, I notice Sarai sitting alone in the far corner reading a medical journal, and I decide to join her.

"Hey Sarai? Can I ask you something?" I say, wanting to distract myself from the thought of red mist and world domination for a while.

"Sure Sugar, what's on your mind?" She crosses her legs and fixes her warm brown eyes on me, giving me her full attention. Sarai has a special talent for always making you feel like you're the most important person in the room.

"Who's Shaloma?" I blurt out. I've been curious about her ever since I saw Wrench's reaction to her name on that first day I came up to the Aerie, and somehow I feel that hers must be a story sad enough to rival my own.

Sarai gets a melancholy, faraway look in her eyes at the sound of the name, but she doesn't appear surprised or even upset that I've asked, she just runs a hand across her face tiredly and says, "Been wonderin' when this conversation would come up, and I guess now's as good a time as any. Shaloma and Wrench were childhood friends, see? Grew up together, close as two people can get." I notice that Sarai slips back into her provincial accent a bit when she's telling stories and it seems so much more natural on her than the crisp, erudite diction she uses when we're discussing business matters.

"Shaloma had an abusive father, absolute_ brute_ of a man, beat that poor girl and all them little ones day in and day out. But Wrench, he says that Shaloma got the worst of it, she was the scapegoat."

An abusive parent, well that's something I can relate to, although my mother never did all that much damage to us physically, especially since me and my brothers started outgrowing her. I shake my head sadly as Sarai continues.

"One day he found that girl all but dead in the back of her daddy's woodshed, carried her back to his place and his momma patched her up. Guess Shaloma was quite full of life back then, spirited, especially considering the circumstances, but Wrench says she was never quite the same after that day. He took care of her like she were made of gold, wouldn't let her out of his sight more 'n he had to. He was a couple of years older than her and she _idolized _him, thought the sun shown out his rear end," she says, chuckling a little.

"So…did they come here together then?" I ask, urging Sarai on.

"Oh yes, she was 12 and he was 14 when they were taken. We took them under our wing right away, gave 'em the antidote—you could tell they were trustworthy by the way they looked out for each other. Wrench watched her like a hawk when they first set foot in here, made sure the Enforcers didn't mess her around none—lots of those barbarians prey on the pretty ones, take advantage of them, and poor little Shaloma already havin' been a victim so long…well, she was an easy target."

I'm reminded of our vile old Peacekeeper Cray buying girls from the Seam for a loaf of bread and I feel the bile rising in my throat. Disgusting pigs! The thought of it makes me even more desperate to take down these sadists.

"Well, once her hormones started kickin' in it didn't take long for Shaloma's admiration and devotion to Wrench to turn into a big 'ol crush—used to follow him around like a lovesick puppy-dog."

"And did he…like her too?" I ask tentatively, thinking of all those years I spent pining after Katniss and realizing that this Shaloma and I seem to have a lot of things in common.

Sarai laughs a little, her short black ringlets bouncing with the motion. "Aw, I don't know if Wrench even knew anything about it—he was just a kid, and an oblivious one at that. You know Wrench, he's got a good heart, but he was so clueless, just kept treatin' her like his little sister and she got sick of it eventually. She started getting reckless trying to impress him, to make him take notice…" All the levity is gone from Sarai's voice now and she is subconsciously twisting her hands in her lap. "…He was just a boy, he didn't understand what was going on in her head…and then one day…" Sarai has to pause for a moment as she chokes back a sob, and I place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry Peeta, this is just a little hard… she was like a daughter to me…But anyway, one day Shaloma decided she was gonna get his attention once and for all—_foolish girl. _Everyone does silly things when they're young and in love, but here the stakes are so high…" She trails off again, lost in her reminiscence, and then carries on with the story.

"Shaloma was a genius with electronics. They assigned her to work with Dex as his apprentice. Well, that clever little thing figured out how to make a device that would allow her to hack into the Holo Address System…too smart for her own good I always said…"

"What happened?" I ask gently, knowing it must have been horrible.

"Well, she got on the Holo one morning when she knew Wrench would be at lunch—this was about three years ago now—and confessed her love for him right then and there. It was so heartfelt, so emotional that the Enforcers knew right away that something was up with her, that she wasn't doped up on Jackerling. I was there when they took her away kicking and screaming, and I saw the expression on Wrench's face. Don't think I've ever seen that dear boy look so terrified in his life—but he couldn't do anything without risking giving us all away. That night he came to me and cried for hours. And my baby girl Shaloma, well, we never saw her again."

When Sarai finishes her story I don't know what to say. No wonder Wrench freaked out that day—he's been blaming himself for poor Shaloma's fate for years, a fate that no doubt included unimaginable torture and a cold and lonely death.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I'm only dimly aware of my surroundings, but soon I hear Wrench's voice cut through the quiet room. There is a strange edge to it, somewhere between confusion and eagerness. "Hey Dex?" he calls, and I see Dex look up from his workstation. "Did we send some of our allies out scouting in the mineshafts?"

"In the shafts?" asks Dex, his eyebrows knitting together. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Because there's something down there," he says slowly, enunciating every syllable.

"_What?_" says Clef, coming over at examining the blips on the monitor where Wrench is sitting. "That's impossible, how could someone be so far down there? We were sure that the far entrance was completely caved in—impassable!"

The others are cautiously gathering around the computer. This feels familiar, like a week ago when we caught that radio signal and were so disappointed when it got blocked out. No one seems to want to get their hopes up too quickly this time.

"That could just be a program error," says Aero.

"Yeah, or the motion sensors could be picking up on a little rockslide," puts in Sam.

"True," mutters Dex, watching the blips moving steadily across the screen. "But I've never seen a rockslide move quite so purposefully, have you?"

"Well, what do you think, is it friend or foe?" says Clef. He cracks his knuckles and gazes around at our bewildered faces. "I guess it's possible that the Lords have discovered the shafts."

Sarai purses her lips like she does when she's thinking hard. "No, I don't think so. They'd have to go way outside the compound to get in that way and those cowardly moles never venture far from the outdoor rec area or the sentry posts. Plus, why would they bother? They think that the entrance is completely caved in just like we do—heck, that's where we got the intelligence from anyway. And besides that, they put up the Terror Tunnel in front of it as an added precaution."

"I think Sarai's right," says Dex. "If there's one thing you can always count on with villains, its hubris. They think this stronghold is impenetrable. They think _they _are invulnerable. And yet here we stand, hidden from their sight, plotting a revolution. I think fifty years of sitting here smugly, protected by the advances made by genius slave labor, has made them complacent." He smiles wryly, grabs a miner's helmet with a headlamp off a rack on the wall and jams it onto his head. "Come on, let's go find out if that signal was coming from as close as we thought!"

We all put on helmets and Clef hands us some shiny rifles that look like they've been borrowed out of a scene from a futuristic film. They are lightweight, too, I notice, shifting the gun around in my hands to get a feel for it.

Clef winks at me and says, "Easy to lift, right? Remember that I designed them for a bunch of pale, scrawny brainiacs. The biggest weapon most of them have ever held is a fork!"

A few moments later we are all creeping down the dark mineshaft, sinking lower and lower into the heart of the mountain. The air is stale and close and I'm finding it difficult to breathe, but Jetta shows me a little metal device in the shape of a bird called a Canary 2000, which she says will sing if the air becomes poisonous. As a kid from the merchant class, I always knew I was more privileged than most in Twelve, but I never realized how difficult a life in the mines could actually be. I can't imagine slaving away in this cold, dank tunnel, breathing in coal dust all day long, all for a salary that would barely allow my family to squeak by. Katniss' father must have really been something.

Dex is tracking the blips on a portable radar device now and after about half an hour's hike, we seem to be getting closer. The anticipation is killing me. The thought of seeing Katniss both thrills and terrifies me—I don't want her to see me like this, and even more, I don't want her to end up like me, to be captured and subjected to the same sort of torture. I know that she will never agree to stand by in the Aerie while the rest of us are fighting, oh no, she'll want to jump right into the fray. That unwavering, borderline reckless courage of hers is one of the things I love most about Katniss, and it's also the thing that scares me to death.

"Ok," breaths Dex, and I can see that his anticipation is just as great as mine. He's perspiring despite the chill in the mine and his eyes are gleaming with emotion. "Keep your weapons at the ready. They—whoever they are—should be right around the next-"

But Dex doesn't get to finish his sentence, because as we round the corner I see a wall of caved in stone, and through one of the chinks, just barely visible at the foot of the rockslide, I see a hand gesturing towards us frantically.

_I know that hand._

"Katniss!" I cry out, her name catching in my throat, my mind racing at a million miles an hour, my heart thumping in my chest. I fling myself at the stones feeling as if I could tear down the entire tunnel with my bare hands if it meant I would find her on the other side.

And then I hear her voice, clear as a bell, light and soft like a Mockingjay on wing, and I feel my heart swell so large I think it will burst.

"_Peeta_?" says the voice.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, sorry about the cliff hanger everyone, but you know how I love those! Thanks to the 4 people who reviewed last time for your lovely comments and insight. Please, please drop me a review if you're enjoying this story!


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